


Howl

by adozendays



Category: Re-Animator (Movies)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Bathing/Washing, Blood Kink, Body Worship, Bondage, Car Sex, Chair Sex, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cunnilingus, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Femdom, Finger Sucking, Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, Hate Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Kitchen Sex, Literal Sleeping Together, Masturbation, Maybe - Freeform, Minor Injuries, Morgue Sex, Naked Cuddling, Oral Sex, Smut, Spit Kink, Tender Sex, Touch-Starved, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:15:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 53,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26515063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adozendays/pseuds/adozendays
Summary: The Miskatonic Massacre transforms the friendship between Dan Cain’s two roommates into something intense and maybe even a little frightening. After all, they’re too emotionally stifled to deal with all of these dreadful…feelings.
Relationships: Herbert West/Reader
Comments: 16
Kudos: 74





	1. i’ve got a hunger that’s in motion/a hunger that i can’t control

**Author's Note:**

> check out my tumblr (lightofthemoonglow). the tag for this fic is 'howl inspo'. Mostly includes inspo stuff, but the masterlist is there, which includes a link to the spotify playlist

When you pull into the driveway of 666 Darkmore, you don’t go inside right away. Instead, you rest your head on the steering wheel and just sit there for a few moments. Despite everything that had happened since last night, you had forced yourself to go about your day as normally as possible, because there had been no other option. It had taken so much from you that you’re surprised that you have the capacity to think at this point.

The house is silent when you enter. Herbert is home, his car is parked in the driveway. Dan’s not here, hopefully he’s somewhere safe. You sigh and take off your knit hat, but your coat is still on when you hear something coming from the basement. Normally, you would go to your door and assume that Herbert has a handle on things. But considering recent events, you decide to go down there and just see what was going on.

How much worse can things get?

–

“Plagiarist.”

There is so much venom in a single word. You hover on the stairs, gripping the railing as your eyes focus in the semi-darkness of the basement. The sound of gurgling, of a man fighting for his life, even though it was clearly an exercise in futility. The gurgling gives way to something that sounds like a blend of the sound of snapping twigs and the crackling crisped rice makes in your mouth. There, there’s some thumping, Hill’s limbs twitching on the basement floor.

And then…silence.

Herbert turns around to see you there, eyes wide with shock as he drops the shovel. You shouldn’t be home right now, you should be at the hospital, working, or studying at the library. Not here, not being a witness to what he had just done.

The two of you meet on the stairs. Herbert’s entire body is vibrating, you can feel it when you put a hand on his shoulder. In silence, your bodies descend and then you’re both sitting on the steps, Herbert’s breathing is starting to quicken, his chest heaving from it, there are beads of sweat dotting his forehead. His hands are shaking, and you take them in yours, holding onto them tightly, trying to ground him a little bit, so he can speak.

“I had to kill him.” Herbert’s voice is shaking, just like the rest of him and you nod in understanding. Hill is someone that would have it coming, with his eyes that feel like they’re trying to figure out what’s under your clothes, what would make you weak and malleable for his purposes. You’re not afraid of many people, but Hill is one of the few that does frighten you. So, his body on the floor of your basement, still oozing blood even as the rest of him is unmoving as a corpse should be, that is none of your concern.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” You squeeze his hands again before you let go, placing one on his shoulder as the other rests on your own lap, a few drops of Hill’s blood now on your jeans, but that’s not a concern. “Tell me what happened.” You force calm into your voice because that’s what he needs right now, not someone else who is just as nervous as he is, even though your insides are churning and you’re trying to keep thoughts of the consequences of what just happened at bay.

Herbert haltingly explains why Hill had to lose his head, though his voice becomes steadier as he tells of Hill’s plans to steal his research, get rid of both him and Dan, and he had no idea what Hill had planned for you, but it was probably going to be the same as whatever he would have done to the two men you lived with. The three of you would have disappeared so Hill could take credit for the reagent and Herbert had stopped him the only way that he had been able to think of.

“We all would have disappeared…” he says, and his voice is starting to tremble once again, his body twitching. The peculiar gasps he begins to make and the near stuttering of his voice are familiar, almost exactly like the ones from last night.

_When you walk into Herbert’s bedroom, he’s got a sleeve rolled up and he’s shaking, extending the bottle and needle out to you, asking for your help. You give silent thanks to whatever is out there that Dan doesn’t have to see this, doesn’t have to hear Herbert tell him that he needs the glowing contents of the bottle in your hand._

_You sit next to him on the bed as you take the needle from him once again. As you push down on the needle’s plunger, your heads wind up pressed together. One of his hands grips your thigh tightly. You’re wearing your pajamas, an oversized Ramones t-shirt and no pants. The hem of your shirt has ridden up nearly high enough to expose the black cotton of your undergarments and Herbert’s hand is on your bare thigh. The hem of the former has ridden up, putting his hand dangerously close to the latter._

_The two of you haven’t been this close since thanksgiving, which the two of you don’t talk about, don’t dare to think about it. His fingers dig into your flesh as the reagent courses through his body and it hurts but not in a bad way. Under other circumstances, you would have enjoyed it._

But a shot in the arm isn’t going to fix this. Taking his face in your hands, you look into his eyes. “Herbert, listen to me, okay? Listen. Take a deep breath through your nose. Fill your lower lungs first, and then your upper lungs. Hold your breath while I count to seven. And then exhale slowly through your mouth. Just like we learned in class a few weeks ago. Can you do that for me, honey?” The word just slipped out; you were more focused on calming him down so the two of you could figure out what to do next very soon. You’re not very experienced in calming people down and when you’ve tried it before, you’ve been bad at it. This is actually good, at least in your book. Despite your harsh exterior, you do care about your friends and that’s what Herbert basically is at this point.

The scornful look is barely Herbert™ but it’s enough to show you that he’s still mostly himself. But he nods and the two of you sit there for a while, the only sounds in the basement are his breathing and your best attempt at a calming voice counting to seven. Your hands fall from his face, but he winds up right against you as you check his pulse to see how he’s calmed down. The tender touch to his neck makes Herbert stiffen, but he just presses his face into your shoulder, forcing his arms to remain at his sides instead of wrapping them around you so he can satisfy this urge to…cling to you. Some part of his brain would be satisfied by that, but that’s a part of himself that won’t be helpful, so he ignores it.

“Okay, here’s what’s going to happen. I am going to go to the store. I will get what we need to clean up this mess. We’re gonna figure this out, Herbert. I promise.” You take his face in your hands again and you speak clearly. He actually believes you, so he nods in response. You smile, but you don’t get up just yet.

Instead, you take his glasses and clean them with the hem of your shirt, the flecks of blood now gone. Herbert takes them from you when you try to put them back on his face and that’s a good sign. He’s back to being himself. You stand up and leave the basement after one final sentence.

“It’s gonna be alright.”

–

It is not alright.

Herbert stumbles to his feet, shaking off the last bits of Hill’s intestines, kicking what he could see. What was left of Hill was a mess on the floor, Herbert having ripped himself free after putting up the fight of his life. As he stumbles through the smoke-filled room, Herbert takes note of the pain that radiates from his ribs, how it hurts to even try and breathe through the thick smoke that had filled the morgue. Herbert is forcing himself to move when he wants to stop, the pain and smoke restricting his breathing equally, the latter also impeding his vision. Across the upper part of his left pectoral is a gash that he had accidentally given himself during his struggle with what remained of Hill, though it hardly even hurt.

There are shadowed figures still staggering around, groaning, grunting in the dark. Herbert’s ears are ringing faintly and he’s not sure if the cause is the noise or a head injury. His fingers go to where Hill’s laser drill has attempted to penetrate his skull and he vaguely notes that he’s been burned there, his attention quickly diverted.

“Get off of me!” Your voice breaks through the chaotic noise and he turns to see you on the floor, struggling with one of Hill’s monsters. The battered female corpse on top of you has a scalpel in her hand and even in her mindless rage, your cries of pain indicate that she has been able to make contact. He sees the blade slice across your chest. You’re trying to fight her off, but it’s a losing battle. Herbert only hesitates for a moment before he looks on the floor and finds a skull breaker near his feet.

Every swing of the hammer-type tool sends agony through his body. Picking it up had nearly stolen his breath, but bringing down on the head of the thing, hearing the sound of metal meeting bone, renewed his spirit just enough to keep him going, Herbert eventually getting the reanimated corpse off of you and kicking it aside as he goes to you.

You’re shaking violently, gasping for air in between cries of pain. Herbert grabs your hands to help you get up and you scream at the same moment he notices your hands are slick with blood and he feels the deep lacerations that have been carved into one of your hands. The top half of your shirt has been shredded to bits, though when Herbert presses his coat to your chest, he does so to keep you from bleeding out, as opposed to out of concern for your modesty.

“Am I going to die?” you ask as he helps you out of the morgue and down the hall. It’s dark, save for the madly blinking lights and the dull light that the flames provide, so Herbert has to find the stairs by memory, somehow keeping you on your feet as he forces the stairway door open and starts to drag you up them. You can walk, but he knows that if he lets you go, you’ll fall behind quickly. His entire body howls with every step, anyway, so he might as well help you. And someone has to keep his coat pressed to your wounds.

“No. Calm down,” Herbert snaps once he can find the energy to speak, jerking you along when your footsteps falter. Proper light soon returns, and the sound of alarms give way to the familiar, almost comforting noise of the ER. The stairway door is easier to open from this side. One push and the two of you practically fall through it.

Within a few moments, people notice that there are two bloody figures stumbling through the hall and the two of you are soon surrounded by familiar faces and voices. Harrod can be heard in the distance, shouting about two more survivors. Some of your fellow third years are the ones who need to force the two of you apart, one of them needing to pry Herbert’s fingers off of your side so he can be taken down one hallway and you down another.

It’s then that a rather giddy feeling starts coursing through Herbert. I’m alive, he thinks and actually smiles, even as more pain shoots through his body when they move him onto a stretcher.

–

Eventually, the high fades and the two of you are left to deal with the crash alone, with only each other to rather literally lean on when you finally return back to your shared home. Dan’s still in Psych, sedated after his attempt to revive Megan had failed and he became hysterical, or so the rumors were saying. The two of you had been questioned by police while in your hospital beds, across the hall from each other, unable (likely not allowed) to see each other until after you had given your statements.

Herbert’s ribs had not managed to fully break, officially diagnosed as severely bruised, with one that is slightly cracked. The burn that the laser drill left will scar, leaving with a lovely reminder of what he went through over his supraorbital ridge. He has a mild concussion and some more bruises scattered over his body.

In addition to your own bruises and mild concussion, the scalpel gave you some scars of your own. Your left hand is mostly unscathed, with only the fingertips bearing some wounds. However, your right hand received heavy damage, the worst being a deep wound across your palm, along with some lacerations to your fingertips. There are slashes along your forearms as well, along with one on your neck. Not even your face was spared, a slash running from your lower lip and down your chin, ending partway down your neck. The crown jewel is your chest, with a deep cut that runs from clavicle to clavicle, with more across the tops of your breasts, one on the left and two on the right. At least your nipples are still intact.

No one said a word about what happened in the house. When you get inside, you can still see the bag from the grocery store on the sofa, the unopened cleaning supplies spilled onto the cushions from when you had dropped the bag in a panic what felt like ages ago. Your coat is still on the floor. In your panic, you had forgotten it.

There had been no one to bring fresh clothes to the hospital, so the two of you had been sent home in what you had arrived in, though you had been given a t-shirt from the lost and found to wear under your blood-soaked sweatshirt, which had been found by a firefighter in the hallway, somehow not burned in the fire. Despite having gotten cleaned up at the hospital, both of you need a shower desperately, that feeling of being unclean draped over your shoulders like an ugly, heavy blanket.

There is only one shower in the house and that bathroom is where both of you wind up. Herbert eventually pulls away from you and leans against the wall, the two of you staring at each other for what feels like hours. When he shifts, a sharp twinge runs through him and Herbert hisses softly.

“Need any help?” Your voice is hoarse and when you move, you wince but don’t make any sounds of pain. “At least one of my hands still works. I could…help.”

Both of you are exhausted, barely able to stand. Herbert can hardly move without feeling some sort of pain and you only have full use of your left hand. Both of you need help undressing, though Herbert requires it a little more. In silence, your clothes are removed, both on your own and with the help of the other. There is nothing indecent about the moment. It’s just two people assisting each other in a time of need. Nothing more.

It’s the same logic that gets both of you into the shower at the same time, standing under the warm spray. Herbert washes your hair, his strong, skilled fingers working the shampoo through the locks that still feel unclean, as if they’re still caked in blood and viscera and you run a bar of soap that smells vaguely like peppermint over his body until his skin practically squeaks. There is a more than respectful distance when you are cleaning yourselves and gazes don’t linger. But both of you note that the other looks vulnerable…small, like this and it’s strange to see someone that you’ve always thought of as untouchable in that sort of state.

You leave the shower first, taking one of the towels, but not wrapping it around yourself because you can’t quite manage that and don’t want to be seen floundering with a simple towel. Getting clean has helped clear your head, but there is only so much that can do. None of what happened seems real, but merely moving your hands or looking down at your body proves it. What happened was real. The things you saw were real. You haven’t slept since it happened and it doesn’t feel like you will ever sleep again, but if you manage to sleep, waking up won’t erase what happened.

The bedroom nearest to the bathroom is yours and you don’t close the door when you go in. As usual, you grab your comb and hair lotion on your way to the bed, where you spread the towel on top of your comforter and sit atop it. Not part of your usual routine, but you have to adjust to the hopefully temporary new normal.

But you realize that you can’t do your usual routine because your right hand is useless and you can’t get anything on your hands anyway, so you’re left sitting on your bed, staring at the objects on your lap, wondering what to do next.

Herbert finds you like that, still undressed, still dripping wet. You mumble an explanation when you notice the way he was staring at you. “Gonna have to be inventive,” you tack on, trying to smile, but you can’t because nothing is ever going to be the same again. You can feel it in your bones. And Herbert proves it by taking the things from your lap and sitting next to you.

“Do you-?”

“I’ve seen you do this more times than I can count.” His voice is curt, but there is something in his tone that’s almost gentle. The way he runs his lotion covered fingers through your hair is gentle. So is how he combs it. Though he does tug a little when trying to braid it, the effort more than makes up for it. He’s doing this for reasons you don’t quite know yet because in your mind, you can’t comprehend that he’s trying to pay you back for not leaving him behind when you could have. But that’s what it is.

“Thank you,” you mumble when he’s done and when Herbert gets up to retreat to his room for God knows how long, you ask him to stay.

You’re shaking when you ask him, your good hand wrapped around his wrist. Herbert remembers how you had been there when he had needed to calm down. Your voice saying Can you do that for me, honey? rings through his head. He can still feel your hands squeezing his, your palms on his face. You had managed to help ease the turmoil, that fear and even assisted him in getting back the control that Hill had taken from him. The mere memory of how…helpless he had been made his gut churn and his chest tighten.

So even though he’s only got on his glasses and a towel around his waist, Herbert winds up in your bed. Your bodies lay on top of the towels and blanket, the gap slowly closing as the minutes tick by.

“Do you need some of your…stuff?” You ask, running a hand up his arm until you reach the crook of his elbow. Your thumb runs over the spot where he favors injecting his reagent. The simple contact causes him to shudder, his breath catching ever so briefly.

“No, no,” Herbert murmurs, and you nod, slowly pulling your hand back. He can feel both the soft smoothness of your palm and the rough thread of the stitches and it makes him surge forward, closing the gap between your bodies. His head is tucked in the crook of your neck and your body is still trembling, even as he settles against you. Neither of you care very much that the closest thing to clothes on either of you are his glasses and the hair tie awkwardly keeping your hair out of your face. It is actually rather nice to have someone else right there with you, feel warm skin against yours, feel the movement of his chest as he breathes.

It means both of you are alive.

“We’re okay, we’re okay. We made it.” A part of you still needs to process that simple fact. That the two of you are alive, even after that whole horrible mess. The two of you had made it through the dark and into the light, able to see another day.

The only warning sign is a particular jerk of his body and another shuddering breath washing over your shoulder before you hear it, the sound muffled by your shoulder and the plush pillow under your heads.

It’s almost a sob and this time, it isn’t coming from you.

This is unexpected, to say the least. For a few moments, you’re at a loss, unable to move. This is your department. You’re the one who cries when things go badly. Herbert is the stoic one, sometimes seeming beyond emotions. But your roles are reversed, and you find yourself cradling him against you as he shakes against you, his arms somehow winding up around your body.

All you can do as he breaks down as much as he’ll allow himself to, gasping and convulsing, whimpering from pain and the emotions that wouldn’t stop crashing over him, is hold onto him. Herbert is still in disbelief over how everything spun out of his control. That Hill had been able to undo him so thoroughly and nearly take his mind and life. Herbert had been helpless more in the last few days than he had been in his entire life.

“You’re okay, Herbert, you’re okay. You made it out of there and you’re safe now. I’ve got you; I’ve got you.” It’s all you can think to say. There is no guarantee of what tomorrow or the following days would be like, if any of you would be allowed to continue your studies here or even remain outside of the walls of Arkham State Penitentiary. Maybe the last day the three of you see each other will be sooner rather than later.

But right now, you have this. The two of you holding onto each other, becoming anchors as you curl up in your twin bed, somehow managing to fit onto a mattress meant for one.

When Herbert finally pulls back, he’s composed. It’s as if he hadn’t allowed himself to be vulnerable and you don’t say anything about it. This will be another secret that binds you together.

His eyes gaze upon your mouth and neck before they settle on your chest, the angry red wounds reminding him of that moment he had realized that you were helpless under that creature. In the back of his mind, he noted that the thing had been using a tool, but his mind could only focus on how he had felt the need to help, that he had almost been too late. That it had felt good to bring the skull breaker down on the head of the creature, even though he had been in pain the whole time.

As his mind tangles itself up once again, Herbert’s fingers brush along the biggest one, the wound that stretches from clavicle to clavicle. It doesn’t hurt, but you sharply hiss at his shockingly non-clinical touch, your eyes unable to look away from his fingers dancing over what you know will become a scar.

A hand cups his face in just the right way so that your thumb can lightly caress the mark on his face. Another thing that will scar. Herbert stiffens for a moment, but he soon relaxes, the tips of his perfect, unmarred fingers still resting on your chest, his palm against your sternum. As your lips brush against the mark, his hand flexes, as if he had tried to hold onto something before stopping himself. You hiss, the brief contact making your lower lip sting.

All of a sudden, at least that is how it seems, your faces are so close together that it feels like you’re sharing the same breath. His hand is still flat against your chest and yours is still on his face, though it has moved downwards, and your thumb is near the corner of his mouth. It takes a simple turn and his mouth is against the palm of your left hand, where it won’t hurt.

“Thank you. For what you did.” You close your eyes and your legs intertwine with his, bringing both of you the warmth and closeness that is needed in this moment

It doesn’t need to be said that Herbert had not saved your life in hopes of winding up in your bed in a different way. That was something more out of Hill’s book. Herbert could only nod in response, his hand remaining against your sternum until after both of you had drifted off, claimed by exhaustion at long last.

The two of you slept for over eighteen hours, Herbert waking up first to the morning sun on his face and his chest pressed up against your back. You didn’t stir until after he had left your bed to go into his room. For a while, you just stare at the ceiling, only able to think one thing.

You had been able to see the sun rise on a new day but nothing was ever going to be the same.

–

The new normal turns out to be better than you had thought it would be.

The worst-case scenarios did not come to pass.

After the usual 72 hours, Dan was released from Psych and allowed to come home. You greeted him with a warm hug and some soup from a can. It had taken two days for the two men of the house to speak again, the ugly argument lasting hours before they had come to an agreement that also included you. The three of you needed to stick together. So far, the heat was coming down on Hill and his reanimated gang, but there were still eyes on the residents of the Darkmore house. After all, the three of you were the only survivors that could actually tell their story.

Part of this new normal was needing help with what had been everyday tasks. As you insisted that Dan not be bothered and allowed space to mourn, he was not a part of the system that you developed with Herbert. Which had made it awkward when he had walked in on a shared shower, though thankfully the misunderstanding had been quickly cleared up with a minimum of shouting.

Most days, you spent with Dan, trying to be a pillar of strength and usually succeeding. You made sure he ate, took care of himself, and that he knew you were a shoulder he could cry on. Hours were spent in front of the TV, mindlessly watching for hours, sometimes late into the night, until Dan passed out. Herbert was often off doing his own thing in the basement, though he occasionally joined you on the couch. When he bothered to sleep, Herbert would slip into your bed, often gone by the time you woke up. on the rare occasions you woke up before him, you would take the time to watch him sleep, his face almost angelic when he was at rest.

By the time the meeting with the acting dean of the medical school and the president of the university, the stitches in your hands had been removed. The ones in your chest would need a few more days before they would be taken out. The worst of Herbert’s pain had passed, but he was still having difficulties. Just as he had predicted, there was a scar left by the laser drill, a somewhat noticeable one at that.

The three of you didn’t even have to try and put on a show for the authority figures. Herbert had his facial scar and pained movements. Your scarred hands that couldn’t manage a handshake, despite your efforts, along with the state of your face and neck. Dan’s anguish and grief were all over his face, even before he had noticed the picture of Megan and her father that had been accidentally left hanging on the wall. He had managed to not burst into sobs, but he had come close, gripping the sides of his chair until his knuckles were white.

As it turned out, Hill had files on all three of you in his home office. The one on Dan had been made when he had started dating Meg. Herbert’s had been created the day the small article about his impending arrival had appeared in the Miskatonic Ledger. Yours had been made last, not long after Herbert had moved in with you and Dan.

All three of your files had notes on your daily comings and goings made by the late doctor, copies of school records, photographs, theories on who you were as people. However, you were the only one whose promiscuity had been speculated on, which included how loose he thought you were and how that could be used to his advantage. The acting dean of the medical school had let it slip that Hill had thought it would be rather easy for a man to find his way into your bed and by extension, your home, for the night.

As it turned out, the emergency medicine resident you had been seeing on and off for a few weeks was a plant. Hill had told Pierce that his lack of citing some sources in a paper could end his career, but that could all go away if he did the dirty work Hill himself could not. Pierce had admitted it when asked, though exactly how he felt about the arrangement was unknown. The fact that he had been the one to treat Herbert when he had been admitted to the hospital was just the cherry on top, a story that he had told eagerly.

_“So you received crush injuries to your torso, which you believe may have broken your ribs and a laceration to your pectoral?” Pierce glances down at Herbert, his tone mostly professional, but there was something in his voice. A faint hint of scorn, almost._

_“Yes, in addition to blows to my head and having a laser drill held to my forehead,” Herbert sneers, noting that his words make Pierce’s eye twitch just a bit. The exam begins normally, Herbert forcing himself to not react to the pain, his eyes focused on the ceiling._

_“So, what was she doing down there with you and Cain?” Pierce asks, his voice technically congenial, even as he pressed down on Herbert’s ribs. “She told me that she was busy tonight…”_

_“You would have to ask her.” Herbert’s eyes flicked over to the other man. “We do live in the same house and are in the same class, so we’re together often.”_

_“I am aware of that, Mr. West.” Pierce’s hand presses a bit too firmly and Herbert can’t stop a soft grunt from slipping out. “Just curious.”_

_“I wasn’t aware that you were so close. She’s hardly mentioned you.” Herbert can’t help himself, unable to stop the snide remark that was mostly true._

_The other man’s expression doesn’t change as his hand presses down more than a bit too firmly on the rib that had gotten an expression out of Herbert earlier. The pained noise that comes from Herbert only makes the corners of Pierce’s mouth twitch for a moment._

You had started to cry, not needing to fake it. Herbert, of all people, had been the one to put his arm around your shoulders and glare at the administrators that had thought you needed to know the details of Hill’s arrangement with your beau. As it turned out, your tears had pushed things along, the offer made much sooner than had been planned.

The three of you would volunteer abroad as field medics during the next semester. The school needed the three of you gone for a while so the heat could die down, though that had not been said out loud, only heavily implied. Instead, the idea had been framed as being something to help the traumatized trio. Of course, this volunteering would not impact your standing at the school, and you would be able to begin fourth year with the rest of your classmates.

As no other alternatives aside from just not coming back next semester had been offered, the three of you had decided to go abroad. It was near the end of the semester, so departure was less than a month away. The school’s lawyers would help with breaking the house’s lease and the school would also cover a year’s worth of storage at a local facility. Miskatonic was willing to do whatever they could in order to speed up the public forgetting about the massacre.

–

“Goddammit!”

You sit back on the floor and wince, looking down at your hands, trying not to cry as the pain shot up and down one hand and wrist. The brush lay on the basement floor, right in the middle of what remained of the blood stain on the basement floor. Over the past few weeks, the blood stain had been slowly eroded, but some of it still remained. The shovel had been easily cleaned, but the floor was stubborn, and you were about to lose your mind.

Most of the house had already been packed. The only rooms left were the basement and bedrooms. In three days, the house would be empty, and the current residents would be on a plane to Peru. As Dan went to get some more supplies, you and Herbert were working on the basement. He was packing up his things and after you had taken care of what little didn’t belong to him, you had decided to tackle the blood stain.

While the stitches had been out for a while, your right hand was still not at its best. There was pain, numbness, your right hand could hardly do anything some days and even your left was clumsy or weak at times, though it still served its purpose just fine. You were mostly doing everything the same as before, though there were parts of the new routine still in place.

At first, scrubbing the floor had been going well. But then, your hand wouldn’t grip the brush properly which had been followed by the pain that had made you finally stop. Unable to go on, you sat back and cursed your hands, cursed Hill, cursed his little minion, cursed the university for making the three of you leave the country.

“Did you break something?” Herbert asks, looking up from the box he had been carefully organizing.

“Everything is fucking broken!” You kick the brush across the floor and clench your jaw, resting your head on your knees. “My hand…The blood won’t come out! We have to leave our home and I let Hill’s pawn cop a feel! And my fucking face… Meg is dead! Dan’s always sad and you’re still in pain and this is all…” You let out a long, shaky breath and when you look up, Herbert is kneeling on the floor in front of you, staring at you curiously.

“The blood is eventually going to come out. My ribs will heal.” His voice is even, as if he is discussing the weather. “And we will find another home here after we return from Peru.”

“What about everything else?” Your voice begins to rise, your hands twitching on the concrete floor. The look he gives you practically shouts that you know the answer. But you can’t shut up. “Meg is never coming back, no matter what you do. We’re all going to have to live with our memories of that night. Nothing is going to change the fact that Hill wrote notes about how easy it would be to get me into bed. I actually liked that spineless creep and-.”

Herbert grabs your head and pulls you forward. His mouth is sloppy, urgent, your own quickly responding in kind. It’s messy and awkward, his elbow digging into your side and your foot winds up uncomfortably wedged under his leg as your teeth clack together and tongues crudely explore each other’s mouths for what feels like a few brief moments, but might have been longer. He can feel the scar on your mouth against his lips and it drives him forward, until he’s on top of you and both of you think of thanksgiving. The sound of Dan calling your names, announcing his return, stops the kissing before it becomes more sensual or even less awkward. Herbert recoils from you and you don’t blame him. As Herbert shouts that both of you are in the basement, still on top of you, a look is exchanged that says more than enough.

Another thing to file away and act like it never happened.


	2. Interludes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> random little interludes to fill in backstory, including wtf happened on thanksgiving

**August, 1985**

It’s nearly midnight when you finally get home, parking your Delta 88 in the driveway of 666 Darkmore, the house you share with your roommate of two years, Dan Cain. His car is in the driveway, but Megan Halsey’s is not, so she’s likely not here. Which is kind of a relief, since that means not having to hide in the basement to avoid hearing their sex noises. You pulled a double today and then had to go run errands afterwards, the late hour limiting the stores where you could go. At least you had been able to get a new can of hairspray.

The house is silent when you enter, much to your relief. You head for the kitchen to put away some of your purchases before you head to bed, thankful that you can just pass out tonight and not have to put a pillow over your head to block out the overly joyful noise coming from Dan’s room. Yawning, you set the grocery bags on the kitchen counter and begin sorting through the communal and personal purchases.

“What are you doing here?”

The unfamiliar voice makes you freeze and grip the can of Aqua Net tighter. When you turn around, there is a strange man in a black coat standing a foot or two away and he’s glaring at you like you’re the stranger who is standing in his kitchen, instead of it being the other way around. When he takes a step towards you, you react the only way that you can.

The cap is quickly pushed off the can of hairspray and you aim it at the man’s face, pressing down on the nozzle as hard you can. Then, you’re screaming, he’s screaming and then all of a sudden, Dan is there, yelling at you to stop and that this is the new roommate.

“Didn’t you just put up the notice today?” You ask Dan, ignoring the other man in the kitchen, who is still trying to find his balance and not touch his eyes. “How the hell has he already moved in?”

Dan quickly explains that Herbert had first and last month’s rent up front and was willing to pay extra to use the basement. Which made sense, though you stood by your decision to use your hairspray as improvised mace. There had been a stranger in the house, after all.

“If you two are done with your conversation, I require assistance with rinsing out my eyes,” Herbert says dryly. You sigh and lead him to the sink, which thankfully has a pullout faucet, making it easier to help him out.

“What’s even your name?” You ask as you gently run the water over his eyes, both of you bent over the sink.

“West. Herbert West,” he tells you, your eyes drawn to his mouth for a moment. There is a beat before you reply with your own name, rushing it out to try and forget that you had been distracted for a moment.

**September, 1985**

The sound of Dan’s radio does not cover up the noises coming from his bedroom. You are staring down at a textbook, the words becoming a blur before your eyes. With a sigh, you slam it close and gather up your study supplies and head down to the basement.

The basement had quickly become your refuge from the noises that often came from Dan’s room. You had been living with him for over a year and had gotten used to it. At least he had settled down with Meg, though that just meant there were regular ‘dates’ at the house. You could only hope that Herbert let you hang out on the steps because that was better than having to listen to sex noises. Your own radio is broken, so the basement is your only option at the moment.

“What are you doing down here?” Herbert asks when he sees that you’re in the basement with him. Despite having lived together for a few weeks, along with being classmates, the two of you had hardly spent any time together. In his free time, he was always in the basement and you did have a life of your own. Herbert is an odd man, to say the least. The noises that slip out of the basement are suspicious and he’s secretive about…everything, but Herbert is still not the worst person that you could be living with.

As if on cue, his question is answered when a moan travels down to the basement, the open ceiling vent allowing the sound to travel into the basement.

“Yeah, I usually keep that vent closed for a reason,” you reply. “Mind if I hang out down here? With the vent closed, I don’t have to hear anything and I can actually study.”

Herbert ponders your request for a few moments, the giggles and sighs coming from up above a grating soundtrack. Then, a deep moan that sounded pained, followed by some sort of weird grunt made you jump and drop your books down the steps.

“I have no idea what that sound means, but it can’t be good,” Herbert says dryly, going to grab a broom so he could use the end of the handle to close the vent. “Stay on the steps and out of my way.”

That’s the answer to that question, you realize, gathering up your things and making a little study corner on the landing. The silence is almost heavenly.

“Are they always like that?” Herbert asks after a while, when a particularly loud noise slips through.

“Usually. They’re very…enthusiastic about what they do together.” You furrow your brow and sigh, tapping your pen on top of your notebook.

“I’ve been able to gather that.” Herbert’s voice has a hint of sarcasm to it, making you smile for a moment. “It’s as if they’re putting on a show.”

“They laugh so damn much, too. It’s like there are a couple of hyenas loose in the house.”

Herbert snickers and the ice has finally been broken.

**November 1985**

Last year, you had spent Thanksgiving alone in the house. Dan and the old roommate had been off visiting family, of which you had none. So you had gotten some takeout and watched a bunch of movies by yourself, Rufus only coming out for a few minutes before retreating back into Dan’s room.

This year, it’s you and Herbert. As he was both Canadian and a fellow orphan, he is also not celebrating the holiday and is spending the short break in Arkham. The two of you are sprawled on the living room floor, which is finally free of boxes. For once, Herbert is not hiding in the lab, choosing to spend time with you in the world above. He’d even eaten dinner with you, which had been a surprise. The two of you have been on the floor for over an hour, since you had finished eating. You’re both on your backs, staring up at the ceiling.

“What do you think Dan and Meg are doing right now?” You ponder, glancing over at the man next to you. The happy couple are down in D.C, visiting Dan’s family, so the other residents of 666 Darkmore are spared the sounds of the happy couple’s alone time for a few days.

“Probably fornicating.” Herbert’s blunt statement has you in giggles and he even cracks a smile.

“Probably? They totally are. They’re probably staggering around some guest bedroom and he’s calling himself Doctor Dan.” You’re snickering at the mental image, which is easy to conjure up, since you’ve seen that little scene play out more than once. “And laughing their heads off.”

It was strange to hear them before they actually got to the main event. They made it all sound like a fun little game that only they knew how to play. You didn’t exactly observe them, but you had noticed how…easy it all seemed to be. How they had connected and just fit together, their bond carrying over into the bedroom, which was likely why they were so spirited in there. They weren’t silent, nearly still and they always smiled afterwards. You’ve never smiled before, during or after, much less giggled and…everything else that you’ve overheard.

Maybe that is why it is so easy to mock them. Herbert joins you in doing so, the two of you having your little comedy routine down pat at this point.

Still giggling a bit, you roll on top of Herbert and let out a mocking imitation of a pleasured moan. “Oh Dan.” You’re hardly able to get the words out, still chuckling as if this is the funniest thing in the world.

Herbert easily rolls you onto your back, so he’s on top of you now, one of his legs between yours. “Oh, Meg.” His groans are quite convincing and he bows his head forward, nearly touching his forehead to yours. When his glasses slightly slip up his face, you’re struck by how beautiful his eyes are, something you’ve never noticed before, how the color seems to shift with the slightest movement of his head.

“Oh, Herbert.”

The way you sigh his name, almost rapturously, sends a frisson of desire straight through Herbert, the blood draining from his face and going to his groin. Your eyes are half-lidded, your mouth is slightly parted, reminding Herbert of media representations of women in throes of passion. The usual amusement that’s laced with sarcasm, the irreverent tone that you often take when the two of you are mocking the happy couple is gone. In its place is a raw, ardent gasp full of longing that stirs a part of Herbert he hardly knew existed.

No one has ever moaned his name like that before. Or at all. Herbert is used to silence and had never considered that intercourse was anything but clinical in real life, not counting the media depictions he’s come across in his lifetime. Dan’s noises seem just as real as those and Herbert can’t imagine losing control like that.

Though right now, as he gazes down at your face, the way you had moaned his name ringing in his ears, he can imagine it. In this moment, Herbert can understand how someone can just let go and let their baser desires take over because he wants to do just that.

The soft whine that he can’t stop from slipping out is heard by you and you swear that he presses himself against you for less than a second. You’re not even sure if that actually happened.

Suddenly, this isn’t funny anymore.

Herbert scrambles off of you and rushes down to the basement. For a while, you just remain on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. When you turn your head, you can see Rufus silently sitting there, as if he’s judging you and you can only wonder how long he’s been there.

Obviously, this doesn’t mean anything. It can’t.

So it won’t. When Pierce calls the next day and asks you on a second date, you accept because you can’t let one weird moment consume your life.


	3. it’s in the trees/it’s coming

**i**

The air has stilled, and things are as quiet as they can be out here. By now, after three months, the three of you had adjusted to your new lives in Peru. The three of you were on your own most of the time, a little trio of misfits that had been banished out here, and yet had managed to not only survive, but come close to thriving at times. With each passing day, it seemed more and more possible that the three of you would be going home in one piece when all of this was over.

As Dan finishes up the day’s paperwork and you check on the supplies, making note of what was needed, Herbert is hard at work in his little corner of the tent, working on his latest test subject. Dan is perfectly between where both of you are, able to keep an eye on the both of you. Though of course, the majority of his attention was on Herbert. Despite Herbert’s assurances that today’s work was something he could handle on his own, Dan is still going to be on alert.

“Done!” You announce, dropping the clipboard onto the card table that served as your desk.

At the sound of your voice, Dan sees Herbert stiffen and look down at his latest subject. Within moments, the sound of a gunshot fills the tent and you jump, dropping your bottle of water onto the ground at the same moment Dan drops his pen.

“What? It was a failure. I’m not going to waste my time with it.” Herbert’s response to Dan’s incredulous stare is blunt and he moves towards his workstation, beckoning you to come join him there.

After all, tonight is the night. Hopefully the first of many.

Herbert has been working a variant of his reagent that would hopefully repair the damage done to your hands by healing the nerves. This was the first time he would be testing it on you, after trials done on various animals. You were nervous, but you had been assured that the worst that would happen would be a burst of energy, tachycardia, a general rush to your system. The dose was far too low to kill you, which should not have been as reassuring as it had wound up being.

At this point, you are willing to do anything to fix your hands. You want to be a surgeon after graduating and your hands are not in a conducive state to do that. The pain keeps you up at night sometimes, leaving you to wander out to the medical tent and read in silence as Herbert works long into the night. He doesn’t sleep a lot, but sometimes, neither do you. Your hands like this make you feel powerless. And you have never liked feeling powerless. The control you prize so dearly is gone, wrenched out of your hands, literally, against your will.

Sitting at his workstation, you shrug off your short-sleeved field shirt, leaving you only in a tank top that has blood stains across the front. At this point, none of you have an item of clothing that hadn’t been covered in blood at some point. Herbert takes hold of your wrist, your hand laying across his wrist as he swipes an alcohol wipe across your palm and readies the needle.

There are no calming words, no reassurances from him or hopeful statements from you. The needle pierces your flesh and you tense for a moment and then…you start to feel something. Euphoria, maybe. Though there is more to it. The bottom of your stomach is dropping out, every part of you is pulsating, but especially your hand. There is nothing but heat for a few moments. And then…even more exhilaration.

You’re not even aware of what you’re doing. That you moan rather loudly, throwing your head back slightly as your eyes partially close.

But the other occupants of the tent are very much aware of it and what it looks like. Dan’s face is on fire and he’s tempted to flee the tent and spend the next several months as far away from here as possible.

Herbert is watching you intently, still gripping your wrist tightly. The noises are over quickly, within seconds. While Dan had thought that it had gone for too long, Herbert found himself wanting to hear more. He remembers that evening on the floor of the old house, how you had moaned his name while under him. It was only four months ago, and yet it feels like a lifetime has passed.

“How do you feel?” he asks, finally letting you go.

You flex your hand and for the first time in months, you don’t wince in pain. “It feels…better. Not like before but I don’t want to scream.” It seems that your tolerance for pain has gone up in some way. You can move your hand with more confidence now, it isn’t as screamingly agonizing as it can be.

“Of course, it isn’t going to be healed all at once.” Herbert grabs his notebook, hurriedly writing down the notes from his session. “What are the other sensations?”

“I feel great. Like I can take on the world again.” You smile brightly for the first time in months and that also goes down in Herbert’s notes.

“Alive. I feel alive.”

**ii**

As it turns out, feeling even some of that control return to you is a bit on the dangerous side. Well, you would consider it ‘a bit’. Other people would consider it ‘very’.

When you come back from a supply run with a wound from a bullet grazing your outer thigh, having taken a detour to try and help someone on the field instead of heading straight back to the tent, Herbert is the one who loses his cool.

“We are supposed to stay here as much as possible, not go traipsing out onto the battlefield like some sort of…” Herbert’s own frustration cuts off his rant as he glares at you.

“We’re field medics.” You stress the middle word, rolling your eyes. “I’m fine. The bullet barely even grazed me.” You set down the supplies and begin to hobble over to the cabinet, intending on dressing your own wounds. Your hands still need more ‘treatments’, as Herbert has dubbed it. There is still pain, stiffness, even the outright refusal to move, but it is more manageable. At times, you almost feel like your old self again.

After all these months of living together in a house even smaller than the place on Darkmore, there is very little modesty left. And Herbert has seen you naked more than all of your past lovers combined. He’s helped you shower and once that has happened, there is no point in acting like he’s never seen you naked. You strip off your pants and grab a sheet to lay on the ground so you can properly elevate your leg. But when you’re on your back, Herbert takes over, positioning your legs for you.

“Usually I make a guy at least buy me dinner a couple times before he gets me on my back with my pants off.” Your joke is cut off by a withering glare as Herbert presses a clean towel to your thigh to stop the bleeding, which had already begun to slow.

“Your recklessness is foolish, even for you. Do you have any idea what could have happened to you out there? How easily this could have been fatal?”

“Yes.”

“It seems like you do not. You should not be risking your life for whatever idiotic cause of the moment you have taken up.” Herbert continues to rant as he cleans and dresses your wound quickly, efficiently. After a while, you stop replying and just stare at him, your head slightly cocked to the side.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would think you cared about me, Herbert.” You tease him with a little smile, as if the idea isn’t the worst one in the world.

In response, Herbert lets go of your leg, hurriedly walking away as your leg hits the ground with a thud.

**iii**

Sometimes, it feels like how it used to be.

You’re laughing as you sit on top of a large rock, your feet in the water of the river. Herbert is iguana hunting only a few yards away, the two of you able to carry on a conversation, even over the sound of running water.

The Cuzco iguana hasn’t changed in a hundred million years, it’s the key to the next phase in Herbert’s work, you’ve heard his speech about it dozens of times since arriving in Peru. Every day that he’s been able, Herbert has been off searching for the creature, trying to find one, preferably more, of his own. This is the first day that you’ve gone with him, seized by the urge to do so.

A few weeks ago, Dan met a journalist, Francesca, and the two of them have been spending a lot of time together. But even before then, you and Herbert had started to pair off sometimes. The last ones to leave the tent, the first ones to leave the house, going out for supply runs, things like that. A side effect from the new normal that had sprung up during the end of your time in Arkham. Dan’s new friend merely pushed the cracked door fully open. You like her, she’s a lovely woman. Maybe she would be good for him, if you believed people had that responsibility towards each other.

So today, it’s just you and Herbert, out here with only each other for company. When there is silence it is comfortable, as if the two of you are longtime friends. Not two people who have known each other for a little more than half a year, pushed closer together by witnessing unspeakable horrors. And yet, you’re more at ease with him than you are with people you have known for years. It’s strange how things turn out.

Strange, but not bad.

Herbert doesn’t look like a funeral director down here. The best way you can describe him is that he looks like someone who wandered off the set of the music video for ‘Africa’. It’s a good look on him, though you would never tell him that. Just like he’ll never tell you that he likes seeing you in your field shorts and tank tops, that he doesn’t even notice the marks that the massacre left on you.

You’ll never tell him that you could watch him talk about those damn lizards for hours, that the way his eyes light up makes the pit of your stomach lurch. He’ll never tell you that your laughter is like a balm, easing what he will insist is not guilt.

So even when you scamper off the rock and vanish over the small waterfall, Herbert smiles and when he finally finds the lizard, you spend a moment just taking in the sight of his delight before you join in the celebration. Neither of you acknowledge those brief moments of genuine affection.

Just like before.

**iv**

It should have gone smoothly this time. He’s been alternating between your fingertips and palm, to ensure all parts of your hands would receive this form of the reagent. This is your fourth treatment; Herbert should have had it down pat by the second. And he does, he actually does. He knows how to hold your hand, how to position the needle.

But today, something happens.

You’re repressing the noises that follow each injection. Herbert had brought out his recorder when he had asked you had described the feelings that the treatments brought. How you felt like you were soaring through time and space, the way your body felt hot and cold at once, the pulsing and your heart pounding. The first time he had tried to transcribe the recording for his official notes, Herbert had broken his pen, the cheap ballpoint snapping in his fingers, covering his hands in ink.

Herbert is withdrawing the needle from your fingertip. Maybe a noise escapes you. Maybe something happens outside or by his feet. The how doesn’t matter. In the end, he still pricks your finger and there is a swell of blood. A small, perfect little drop. You barely react to it and just stare at your hand. His fingers are still around your wrist.

The sight of your blood brings back memories of the massacre and its aftermath. Both of you covered in blood, his hands working shampoo through your hair, your hand running a bar of soap over his body, the feeling of your skin against his in your bed. Your mouth on his, then his mouth on yours. Your hands on his face, your request: _can you do that for me, honey?_

Before Herbert can stop himself, your finger is in his mouth and he can taste copper on his tongue. Your blood isn’t sweet, though it almost is. A trick of the mind, nothing more. His own baser impulses trying to trick him. And yet, he’s falling for it, even feeling that rush that comes with indulging in the forbidden.

Your expression is one of rapture, nearing awe. His tongue darts against your fingertip for a moment and the sensation makes your thighs clench together. The knowledge that your blood is on his tongue, even if it isn’t for long, makes you feel powerful, all that control you had lost on the floor of the Miskatonic morgue back in your hands for a moment as you observe this act of supplication.

Dan is at the table right next to you two, observing this play out with disgust and slight fascination. He’s only a few arm’s lengths away, but it feels like no one even remembers he exists. His dinner has been completely forgotten for now, despite his fork still being in his hand.

No one notices Francesca enter the tent, camera in hand. She captures your expression of intoxicated wonder, a side view of Herbert’s almost dazed reverence and Dan’s appalled shock. Almost immediately after that, the moment is broken. Herbert lets go of your hand, which you yank away. As you scramble out of your seat, Dan remembers that he has a fork in his hand and stabs at his salad, as if that would wipe the sight from his eyes.

That night, you think of his warm mouth. You have no idea what you had felt, what had possessed you, but it threatens to consume you as you lay there, your body threatening to tremble as you recall the sensation of his tongue on your finger, how the soft flesh had dragged over the scar tissue. For a moment, you’re light-headed and need to force yourself to breathe.

Herbert thinks of your taste. He knows what your mouth tastes like and now your blood. The former is different from the others and while the only blood he’s tasted is his own, he knows that yours should have tasted the same. Somehow it doesn’t. He is acutely aware of his reactions to the situation, but he pushes it down, forces himself to actually sleep for once so he can escape it.

In the morning, both of you pretend like it didn’t happen.

**v**

The two of you can’t hide from each other forever.

One night Dan isn’t home. He’s once again with Francesca, the two of them having gone into the city. It’s late and he’s not back yet. You fell asleep in the main room and are on your way to get into your own (lonely, empty) bed when you hear noises coming from Herbert’s room. Gasps, mumbling.

For once, Herbert is in his own bed and he’s sleeping. You watch for a moment before you realize that something is wrong. He’s shaking, mumbling. “Not my brain…faculties…leave…get off!” A violent flinch follows the last two words and just as he had done for you so many times back during those final weeks in Arkham, you get into his bed. It doesn’t even register to you that he’s shirtless.

When Herbert wakes up, he’s not sure who is in his bed and his innards freeze up for a moment as fear courses through him. It lasts a heartbeat before he realizes that it’s you, that you’re the one staring at him with wide eyes. He’s not in the morgue. Neither of you are. Both of you are safe.

Back in Arkham, both of you silently agreed to not talk about those nights. No one expected anything, no one would admit to needing it, needing to wake up and realize that there is someone else in the bed. That no one has to be alone. Once you had arrived in Peru, all of that had stopped. For the past few months, both of your beds have been lonely. Both of you have almost forgotten what it feels like to have someone in there with you, sharing that intimate space.

But neither of you can admit that is what you need.

Though there are loopholes that are figured out rather quickly. Under the darkness provided by blankets and the late hour, the two of you can’t see each other.

So you don’t have to see how Herbert’s brow unfurls at the feeling of your hand on his face. He doesn’t have to see how the worry drains from your visage as your bodies settle together. He only sees shadowy outlines as you remove your shirt, you don’t see his expression at all. It’s easy to ignore how good it feels to be tangled up together when you can’t see how relief washes over your bodies, turning both of you boneless as the two of you sink into each other, practically becoming one flesh.

(Dan sees the two of you in the morning, but doesn’t say anything. In due time, the two of you will figure your shit out.)

(He hopes).


	4. it’s coming for me through the trees.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As their return to Arkham draws nearer and nearer, things start getting rather intense. And then...it finally happens. But of course, things can not be easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I highly recommend listening to ‘Turning Page’ by Sleeping at Last and ‘The Night We Met’ by Lord Huron during the first and last scenes.

**i**

“I thought we weren’t supposed to be stupid!”

You’re glaring at Herbert as he leans against the table, finally looking a bit weary for once. There had been an explosion too close to the med tent for comfort. Nothing special, but Herbert had rushed over to try and grab some of his day’s notes and had been caught up in a second blast. He had been thrown down and across the tent and had tried to walk it off, before realizing that he was bleeding. Lacerations to his abdomen. Not long after that, Herbert had begun to stagger. 

“Goddammit, Herbert, do you have any idea how close you came to being seriously hurt? Or worse?”

For once, his blood is all over your hands as you frantically try to stop the bleeding from the largest wound while you wait for someone to come back. You don’t want to risk Herbert’s life by looking for supplies, but all of the other medics are out there, and you’re practically alone in the tent with your friend’s ( _ or is he more _ ?) blood all over your hands.

It’s warm, viscous and reminds you of that night in the morgue.

No one is coming to help. So, you remove your outer shirt, breaking off some of the buttons in your haste and hand it to Herbert. “Keep it pressed where it's the worst. I’ll be right back.” You glare at him one more time before you go over to the supply cabinet, which is on its side now. Your hands leave blood on everything you touch, even after you try and wipe them off on your pants. The air is cool tonight and in your tank top, you should feel something, but right now you’re running too hot to care.

More blood washes over your hands when you take back your shirt, though the bleeding has already started to slow. That’s good, that’s good, it’s going to be okay, it’s going to be okay, you tell yourself over and over again and maybe one day, you’ll believe it.

“Stupid son of a bitch.” Your voice has no malice in it, only the threat of a sob, as if you were pushing back unneeded sorrow. After all, Herbert is alive. He’ll remain that way, if things go right.

As you kneel next to him, pulling the shirt away from his abdomen, you look into his eyes and there is a moment of understanding. Your foreheads come together and his hand rests on the back of your head.

The cut on his mouth makes his lips taste like blood and it just makes you kiss him harder. Herbert’s fingers twist into your hair, practically smashing his face against yours. It’s wrong, it’s stupid, but you can’t stop yourselves. This means that you don’t have to say it.

_ (Don’t leave me _

__

_ I won’t.) _

__

The idea of it being ‘and then there were two’ makes you feel sick. It’s supposed to be the three of you down here and then the three of you returning home. It’s not going to feel right for it to be reduced to a pair, even if it is the original duo. Herbert has been a part of your lives for less than a year, but he’s a Part of Things now.

The kiss is starting to become all teeth and tongue when you feel it. A surge, almost, of blood washing onto you, soaking your shirt and even some of your pants. It appears that the situation is a lot more dire than you had initially assumed. You pull back, looking horrified.

For a moment, all Herbert can see is his blood smeared on and around your mouth.

So, you take a deep breath and gently push him onto his back. “I’ve got you. It’s alright.” You’re not sure who you’re talking to. You or Herbert.

Of course, he angles himself to watch what you’re about to do. A few months ago, this would have been unthinkable. But his reagent, the modified form he’s been giving you, has made this possible. This is the first test of his work and he’s honored that he’s the first subject.

As you try to hold the direst wound closed, your fingers slip inside of him and your eyes meet. It’s hideously intimate. Even through the gloves, you can feel the warmth of his insides, how alive he is for that brief moment before you yank your hand away.

Herbert grabs your wrist, steadying your hands as they begin to twitch. Your eyes are wide, there is blood all over you, your hands nearly entirely red and ( _ his)  _ blood smeared around your mouth like cheap lipstick. Your clothes are nearly black with blood in some spots and there is blood in your hair. Even your ID tags are flecked with scarlet.

As you stitch him up, Herbert hardly notices the pain. He’s fascinated by the sight of you stitching up his abdomen, how it makes you even bloodier.

( _ you look good in red) _

By the time you’re done with him, his lesser wounds dressed, Dan is back, and Herbert is ready to be on his feet and ready to be of use and you’re caught up in the adrenaline rush that comes with moments like these, springing to your feet, eyes bright as you show off your ( _ perfect, though he’ll never tell you) _ work on Herbert.

Dan doesn’t ask why blood is smeared around your mouth.

**ii**

For once, things align nicely on the day of Dan’s 25 th birthday.

There is time for a small celebration. Francesca brings Crema Volteada and Torta de Chocolate

for all of you and you build a bonfire for everyone to sit around. There are beers and Inca Kolas in equal measure, though Herbert sticks to water. You take half of his confections after he stops eating them, devouring them with gusto. It’s been a long time since any of you have been able to enjoy life like this. Dan’s smiling brightly during the birthday song.

Even Herbert relaxes somewhat. Not enough to accept a hug during the flurry of hugs that just happen, but he’s sitting by the fire with everyone else.

As the night goes on, someone brings out a radio and someone else digs out some tapes. That’s when it really becomes a party. The beer is flowing freely and at one point, you grab Francesca’s hands and the two of you are dancing around the fire.

Herbert is watching spectacle, his gaze seemingly as dispassionate as ever. But Dan knows him well enough by now. Though, more importantly, he can see Herbert’s gaze follow every movement you make.

“You should just go for it.” Dan claps a hand on Herbert’s shoulder like he’s his father. It nearly tips him over.

“Go for what?” Herbert turns to look at Dan, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“Don’t play dumb, Champ.” Dan is now the one looking at the people by the campfire, taking in the sound of laughter and the sight of whirling bodies. It feels like things are normal, like they used to be back home. He can almost imagine that Meg is there, which he knows is wrong. So he only indulges in the fantasy for a moment, picturing Meg being there with the others. 

“Champ?” Herbert wrinkles his nose at the epithet. 

There is another clap to the shoulder and this time, Herbert did wobble a bit, needing to right himself. “Herbert, it’s okay to admit that you-.”

“I don’t.” Herbert’s voice isn’t as harsh as it usually would be. “There is nothing to admit.”

But the expression on his face, even though it’s only there for a brief moment, as your eyes meet across the fire, is more than enough evidence to prove that he is lying. 

**iii**

The tips of your fingers graze the scar across Herbert’s abdomen. “Can I…?” you whisper, your voice hardly audible over the sound of rain hitting the roof and windows. This time, the two of you are tangled up in your bed, the door to your room locked, so Dan can’t walk in and ask questions. It hasn’t happened yet, but no one wants to risk anything. 

(Dan has seen the shape of two bodies under the covers through slightly opened doors. But he hasn’t said anything. 

It’s none of his business)

Herbert nods, even though he knows what it would mean. The two of you would have to come out from under the blankets, into the meager light provided by the moon. The darkness has been a shield for months and yet, there is only a little hesitation. Within a few moments, he’s on his back, the blanket pushed to the side as you crouch between his legs, your fingers ghosting over your work. 

“Did it hurt? Afterwards…” You look into his eyes, your own starting to become dark with emotions you dare not put a name to. 

“A bit.” Herbert’s hand reaches out and grazes the mark left by the bullet that had grazed your leg. The wound of yours he had been able to dress. The touch makes you shudder and drop forward, hands going on either side of his body. 

“Sorry.” You lower your head and your lips graze the scar that runs along his abdomen, an act of contrition. Herbert trembles and softly grabs you, flipping the two of you around. 

“Are you ready to go home?” Herbert asks as his mouth dips down and you feel those soft, pink lips against the scar tissue that runs from clavicle to clavicle. His eyes are dark, hungry, piercing you to your core as he looks up at you. There is intent lingering in his gaze, but he’s holding back. Neither of you are ready for what’s lurking in the back of your minds. 

“I think so. It’s going to be an adjustment.” You’re able to bend forward, your mouth softly pressing against the scar on his face. “We’ve just spent months in a war zone. Arkham might be too quiet.”

Herbert’s mouth twitches and then his lips are on the other scars on your chest, his body shifting a bit lower. “Doubtful,” he murmurs against the soft flesh of your breast, his breath ghosting over your already erect nipple. “We’ll adjust. All of us will.”

“So we’re all sticking together when we go home, huh?” You want to tease, but you can’t. Not when his mouth has moved to your throat, up and down the scar there. 

“Yes.” Herbert's voice vibrates against your skin. 

His mouth stays away from the scar on your face that night. It’s too much, there is no excuse tonight. So your mouths go everywhere else there is scarred skin, the two of you exploring each other in the dark. 

**iv**

The average medical student has zero near death experiences. The three former residents of 666 Darkmore are outliers and should not be counted.

At least this time, most of the blood on your isn’t yours. The new normal dictates that is a good thing. Though it is not calibrated for killing a man, which you had to do in order to get out of the field alive. You had needed to hack into a man’s neck with a machete, explaining a good deal of the blood on you. The rest of the blood had come from Dan, as the three medical students had been tangled up in an awkward three-way hug in the back of the truck that they had managed to hop onto. The ride into the nearest city had felt endless, but they had been able to get Dan to a hospital in time. He was going to be fine. In a few days, the three of you would be able to go home.

For now, Herbert and you will be staying in a motel room not far from the hospital where he was recuperating. Francesca is with him tonight, allowing Dan’s two closest friends to leave and try to get some sleep. Though both of you know that there is probably not going to be any sleep tonight

Once again, Herbert West and you return from a near-death experience together, covered in blood and leaning on each other. Though unlike last time, most of the blood isn’t yours and neither of you have received any new scars from this incident. In fact, both of you are hardly injured at all and Dan had been seriously hurt, a reversal from the last near-death experience.

Maybe it is time to stop having those.

All of your possessions are also with them this time, the various bags set on the motel room floor, save for the one with the iguana, which is put on the table, next to the TV. The three of you had decided to start keeping the important things packed up and ready to grab at all times when things had started to get worse, in case you needed to flee. Which meant that at least they had a change of clothes, plenty of papers and some books to read. There is only one bed, but that isn’t a problem. At least this one is designed for two people to share it, as opposed to your bed back home.

In the harsh light of the bathroom, you see yourself more clearly than you have in months. Bloody, tired, a little sad. The same old, same old. As you undress, you muse that it’ll be nice to be able to wear something other than slightly too large field-issued shirts and trousers. At least the boots were comfortable once you had broken them in. Though once again, your shirt is too bloody to ever wear again. Your bra is salvageable and since the once that you had been wearing during the last near-death experience had been slashed apart by a zombie wielding a scalpel, that is another win.

Once you’re topless in front of the mirror, you stare at your chest scars for a few moments, remembering the fear, the pain. And that you had somehow survived.. Though you know that someone, rather than something, was why you are here today.

When you turn your head, you can see that someone is staring at you, and he’s also half undressed.

The motel shower is smaller than the last one you had shared. Their bodies are practically pressed together from the moment Herbert joins you in there, his chest nearly against your back. Your heart is pounding even before you turn around and gesture for him to kneel, so you can get at the blood in his hair. 

Herbert rests his head against your hip as you use the hotel shampoo to get the blood out of his hair. Your fingers rub against his scalp and it soothes him in ways he had never considered being possible. Gently, your fingers go under his chin and tilt his face up, so the washcloth can wipe away traces of the blood still splashed across his features. 

You’re taking care of him tonight and he’s letting you. When he looks up at you and you see a hint of vulnerability in those beautiful eyes, you gently stroke his cheek once it’s clean of blood.

As if to thank you, his mouth presses against the scar on your outer thigh. 

The bathroom lights are harsh, brilliant, intense, allowing both of you to see so much more detail. This isn’t like the times you've bathed together in the river or changed in front of each other. Herbert’s eyes didn’t drink in the sight of you in the river and you didn’t allow your gaze to linger when you saw him undressing. But right now, as his hands began to clean the dried blood from your chest, his gaze wasn’t impassive, indifferent.

It’s the same look he had given you that night when his mouth had been on the same scars that his soap covered hands are currently all over. Though unlike that night, his hands are soon all over you breasts, tentatively cupping them before you nod and then he’s frantically pawing, the bar of soap dropping to the floor of the shower. Your arms wrap around his neck and you arch her back, offering yourself to him. It’s only when you feel his erection press against your hip do both of you remember that you're in this shower for a reason. Herbert pulls away, his face flushing pink for a moment before he picks up the soap, using it on himself this time. 

Something is going to happen once you get out of this shower. Both of you know it, and there is an equal mix of eagerness and trepidation at the mere thought. It’s what you’ve been inching towards for months, since Thanksgiving. That moment where your little game of mocking your roommate’s sex life had stopped being fun had set the wheels in motion. When you had moaned out his name instead of Dan’s, desire lacing your voice instead of mirth, both of you had been doomed. But this desire, despite its potential to take them places that you’ve never even dreamed of, also gives the other too much power. And neither of you wants to be the first to give in. 

It would have been so easy to treat that little moment of desperate touching the way they had all the other incidents. Just brush it off and force yourselves to go on as normal. You had been able to move past those other incidents. But all of those other incidents had been before that night, before you had started to lean on each other in more ways than one. Before his lips had known the taste of your flesh and blood, before you had come to enjoy the feeling of his body against yours in the dark. Maybe without the events of the past eight months, you would have had a chance to stop yourselves from getting into the room’s one bed together, still damp from the shower. But that Pandora’s box had been opened and as hard as you could try, you would never be able to shut it again. Those tastes of intimacy have given both of you a craving that only the other can satiate.

However, your inexperience in certain matters keeps you from doing anything even after you get into the room's only bed, getting under the comforter and laying only a few hands apart. The comforter is thin and even though the light in the room is off, you can still see enough of each other to not be able to ignore that there is someone else in the bed. The mechanics of the act is something both of you are familiar with. That’s the easy part. But this is already fraught with emotions that neither of you have any idea how to handle.

Both of you move at the same time, hands reaching out and brushing together in the semi-darkness. You don’t hesitate before you push the comforter down and away from them, kicking it off the bed, as if to make a point. If this is going to happen, it is going to happen in the open. Now that you have nothing to cover yourselves up, nowhere to hide, your bodies come together quickly, bare skin pressed against bare skin.

You reach out and touch his face, your thumb stroking over the scar left by the laser drill. You sometimes have blurry dreams of that night, of those things holding Herbert down and all that had followed. While you had tried to help him, you had been no match for Hill’s minions and their superior strength. And in the end, Herbert had wound up saving you, rather than the other way around.

Your lips soon replace your thumb, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the mark, mimicking what you had done the first night you had shared a bed. That first time, it had been a simple brush of your lips against his skin. That had been for comfort, a reaction to the raw, fresh trauma of that night in the morgue. This kiss has intent, desire. It’s the prelude to something more.

The something more is initiated by Herbert, his mouth finding yours as his hands slide up your torso, his thumbs pressing against the side of your breasts. The kiss isn’t like the last one, a bloody frantic movement of mouths. This one is gentle, soft. Sweet, though neither of you dares to even think that word.

When you deepen the kiss, sliding your tongue into his mouth, it’s both a natural escalation and because you want to do something to burn out the warmth threatening to spread and take over your insides. This isn’t supposed to feel this way, you think as you feel Herbert’s glasses slide up his face and against your own. It has never felt like this before and even though you know Herbert on a deeply personal level, has seen parts of him that you know no one has ever seen before and vice-versa, it shouldn’t feel any different just because it's him.

The same thoughts occur to Herbert as his hands greedily resume their fondling of your breasts. He enjoys the feeling of your warm skin, even the parts that are rough from scarring. What he feels as his hands explore your body is a cousin to the desire to consume. It’s a want that he’s felt and been able to repress before. But tonight, he allows himself to indulge in it, to indulge in the woman he has pressed up against him.

Both of you just allow yourselves to feel, for once. After all, tonight was another close call and a natural response to a brush with death is wanting to feel as alive as possible.

When you twined your legs with his, Herbert’s hands gripped your ass and pulled you closer. When his fingers tentatively ran along your slit, your fingers wrapped around his cock. Every step was taken together, as if the two of you were walking along a path, hand in hand.

“You are…” Herbert can’t find the words as he looms over you, between your spread legs. You are laid out before him, a feast for him to devour. He wants, he needs, to have you, but the magnitude of what he feels is almost threatening because of the power that it has over him, the power that it gives you.

You sit up and kiss him, your mouth wet and needy, the two of you tasting the same after spending what had felt like a millennium kissing. “Show me,” you whisper against his mouth and Herbert takes you into his arms after crossing his legs. You wrap your own legs around him as you settle onto his lap.

When he finally pushes himself inside of you, both of you have to muffle the little surprised noises that threaten to escape. This feels right, it feels like something both of you have been looking for has finally been found. Only neither of you had been aware that you had been searching for something until that very moment.

You fit together so well and every thrust breaks down the defenses that both of you have built up over the years. You have never felt this full, literally and metaphorically, no one has ever felt this good inside of you. It’s as if the two of you were made for each other. You cling to him, holding onto his shoulders for dear life. It almost hurts, but Herbert likes it. His face is at your chest and his mouth once more worships those scars, making you whimper and clench around him. One of his hands goes between them, quickly finding your clit. “Mein Herz,” he says against your chest, his mouth practically able to feel your heartbeat as it quickens.

“Fuck, Herbert.” You say his name almost like a prayer, your voice thick with desire, raw and needy as you cry out in pleasure. Your grip tightens and it actually does start to hurt, but that just makes Herbert’s fingers and cock move faster. He wants you to unravel, fall to pieces and then he’ll put you back together.

In the past, no one has ever made you come during sex at all. You have never even come close to it before. It’s always been awkward, sometimes uncomfortable, even when you did everything the textbooks and magazines said to do. So when it hits you, this rush of pleasure that makes you feel like you’re at the beach and a powerful wave has knocked you down and dragged you under, threatening to drown you. You’re unable to process it for a few moments. The world whites out as you howl your pleasure, your hands now clawing at Herbert’s chest as he lays you on your back. 

For a while, Herbert just remains still, watching as pleasure wracks your body. You are coming on his cock, he realizes through a haze of pleasure. He can feel your body’s reactions to the pleasure  _ he _ gave  _ you _ . And it makes him feel powerful in a whole new way, one that he’s never felt before. In a way that he wants to feel again. His body feels right here, it isn’t the usual crude flailing of limbs that is followed by silence and in the case of whoever he’s on top of, near stillness. You are like a live wire under him, your eyes closed and head thrown back as you express your pleasure, the only real word leaving your mouth being his name. 

When your eyes snap open, they meet his. And in that moment, both of you realize  _ oh that’s what this is all about, this is what all the fuss is over.  _

Grabbing your hair, Herbert kisses you fiercely, shoving his tongue into your mouth as he begins to move again, his hips moving faster, gripping yours tightly. Your foreheads are pressed together when the kiss is broken, Herbert not halting his pace, despite him being torn between continuing towards his climax and not wanting this to end. 

Your hands go to each other’s faces, gently, as if the other is the most precious thing in the world. You are gasping, your voice stuttering and halting when you try to speak. When you start to sound almost pained, Herbert stops. But before he can ask you if you’re alright, you speak. 

“I love you.” The words seem like they’re as much of a surprise to you as they are to him. Neither of you have ever heard it from someone that wasn’t a parent. Herbert has never said it in his life and you have only said it to friends and family. Never to someone you’re having sex with. But right now, it’s your only truth.

Because you actually do. The revelation comes after your declaration and you cling to him, afraid that he’ll see it in your eyes and leave. 

Herbert does see it, but he doesn’t leave. Instead, he kisses you again because he knows what he feels and this time, he knows he can’t lock it away. So when he says it back, it is when his mouth is practically still on your mouth. It’s so soft that you almost don't hear it, but you do and you can feel his mouth saying it. 

As he nears his end, Herbert rolls onto his side, the two of you facing each other as his thrusts begin to lose rhythm. He cries out your name when he comes, spilling over your thighs and stomach. 

But for once, neither of you mind the mess. Instead, you remain wrapped around each other, the two of you almost like one flesh as you drift off to sleep, your minds a jumbled mess but when decoded, your thoughts mean the same thing:  _ this is home.  _

When Herbert wakes up the next morning, you are gone. The room is empty, save for himself. He feels...alone for a moment and the vulnerability actually stings this time. That just makes it worse, so he busies himself by getting ready for the day. 

In the bathroom’s harsh light, Herbert can see the many vivid bruises left on his body. They’re all in the shape of your hand or fingers. He can see every place that you hung onto and it stirs a peculiar feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

You return just as he finishes getting dressed, with a paper bag of food for each of you. Seeing each other in the harsh light of day makes both of you remember every moment of the night before. How both of you had been open, vulnerable, honest with each other in ways that no other person had even gotten close to. 

“What?” You ask when the staring goes on for a moment too long. As if you hadn’t told him that you loved him in a voice half choked with sobs, half thick with desire. Your gaze becomes hard and Herbert assumes that you’re telling him to keep his mouth shut in regards to what had happened the night before. That it is to be another thing you two do not speak of.

And because he has no idea what he wants, too afraid to be honest with himself, Herbert goes with what he assumes you want. “Nothing,” he mutters, going back to his tie, as if it requires all of his attention. 

The desire to speak up weighs down your tongue. You know that you should say something, tell him that it isn’t nothing. That you meant everything that you had said last night. But your pride keeps your mouth shut and you turn away, your jaw clenched as bile rises in your throat for a moment.

Both of you do their best to shrug it off. _It’s fine, I didn’t even mean it_ , both of you think over and over, until it feels as close to the truth as possible. 

  
  



	5. my blood is singing with your voice, i want to pour it out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the tension comes to a head. Things boll over and things happen that can’t be taken back.

**ⅰ**

“What the hell is that?”

Herbert looks down at the white creature that he is holding in his cupped hands. It makes a small, pitiful sound and he looks back up at you. It’s early on a Saturday morning and all three of you are in the kitchen. You’re perched on the counter, eating a muffin and having a cup of coffee. Dan is at the table, eating a hearty bowl of oatmeal, also with a mug of coffee.

“It’s a kitten. I found it in the crypt.” Herbert’s tone makes it clear that this is a stupid question and before he can take another step forward, you’ve leapt off the counter and have taken the little thing from his hands, gently cradling it to your chest. “I wasn’t going to harm it.”

The look you give him conveys your doubt better than any words ever could.

It’s been a month since the three of you had moved into this house, nearly two since your return from Peru. The weeks in between returning and moving into the Christchurch Cemetery house had been spent living in a motel, something else covered by Miskatonic. All the three of you had needed to do was demonstrate the assorted injuries that had been gained in Peru. It had been a relief to finally have a proper home after so long. In some ways, things were back to normal.

Others, not so much.

Class had been back in session for a week and former friends of yours and Dan’s had been treating you differently. People were still friendly on the surface, yes, but they were practically walking on eggshells. No one knew how to talk to the people who had been involved in a horrifically violent incident and then spent the next semester in a war zone. Some people refused to look you in the eye, their gaze often drifting to another part of your face. Dan was handled with kid gloves, due to his loss. Everyone was more on edge around Herbert than they had been before, due to the rumors about his involvement in the incident. The general idea was right, but the details were all wrong. Some people believed that Herbert had killed Megan himself.

Much to the surprise of all three of you, Pierce, your sort of ex, was still working at the hospital. He had kept his residency by claiming he was also a victim of Hill’s machinations, though you suspected that he had also threatened to go to the press. Pierce had approached you on the first day of classes and tried to beg for your forgiveness, accosting the three of you in the hospital parking lot. _I really like you, Y/N, and please just hear me out._ You had almost punched him in the face, filled with a rage that was almost frightening. Dan had needed to drive the Delta that night, you were too angry to even drive your own car. 

Herbert had noted the other man’s propensity for caffeine pills. He had done some tinkering with an old formula that he had last used on his roommate in the foster home and now Pierce’s semen was going to be green and the man would likely have trouble getting dates, just like his old roommate. It was the least Herbert could do to the man. Pierce was weak, foolish. He didn’t deserve to have the title of doctor. It had nothing to do with how he had hurt your feelings to the point of making you cry.

The two of you had been dancing around each other ever since that night in Peru. It had taken over a week to even speak directly to each other. One night, the two of you had been left alone in the guy’s motel room and it had been awkward for the five minutes you had stayed there before fleeing to your own room. Neither of you wanted to be the one who spoke of it first, so it still hung in the air, waiting to be brought up.

Both of you still dream of that night. Herbert has woken up hard and aching at the memory of you in his lap, gripping his shoulders so hard that he had been bruised for weeks. You have writhed in your sheets thinking about how his hands had touched you with an almost disturbing expertise, as if he had been your lover for years. Sometimes, your eyes meet and that horrible, tender, knowledge passes between you.

( _neither of you want to admit to yourselves that what really plagues you both isn’t memories of what your bodies had done._

_I love you I love you I love you I love you_

_It can’t be taken back, even if you tried_

_But no one is trying and that’s somehow worse)_

Sometimes, things remind both of you of the little intimacies that had sprung up in the aftermath of the massacre and then in Peru. Sometimes you still feel his fingers when you’re braiding your hair and when Herbert is overcome by exhaustion and his glasses slip down his face, for a moment, he thinks you’re taking them off.

The worst thing is waking up and realizing that there is no one else in the bed.

Herbert watches as you inspect the kitten. “Dan, what do you say?” You ask, pointedly not looking at Herbert. “Are you okay with keeping this little gal?”

Dan takes a few moments to reply. This cat is nothing like Rufus. It’s snow white and a female, so there is no risk of being blatantly reminded of his deceased pet. And it would be good to have another animal. The finger creature, which you dubbed ‘Addams’, is not much of a pet, though his roommates seem to think so.

“Sure,” Dan agrees, taking a sip of his sugary coffee and nodding. You smile ( _more brightly than you have in weeks, Herbert notes)_ and go to call the vet that Rufus had gone to. You’re able to get an appointment for that afternoon and when you return, it’s with a litterbox, litter, food, some toys and the kitten even has a little red collar with a nametag that reads ‘Ghost’.

And so, the Christchurch Cemetery house went from four to five (or three to four, depending on who you asked, as opinions on Addams’s status as a living being varied) residents. 

**ii**

The smell of Stetson cologne alerts you to Pierce’s presence before the man even speaks. It was barely tolerable before and now it makes you feel both sick and angry.

( _it’s too much, all wrong, you’ve come to prefer the smell someone else’s soap, of someone who doesn’t feel the need to drown himself in a mix of oil, water and alcohol)_

“Fuck off, Dr. Baird,” you sneer as he hovers next to you as you put on your jacket, as it is time to go home. Just as soon as you find Herbert.

“Just hear me out. Five minutes! That’s all I ask. I can explain everything.”

“Don’t care. Again, fuck off.” You roll your eyes and grab your bag. His eyes follow your hands and you’re sure that he had been staring at the scar on your face, or at least trying to. “What makes you think that anything you have to say is going to make me forgive you, much less want to date you again?” It had taken months to stop wanting to throw up at the mere thought of how his ( _clumsy, unskilled, cold)_ hands had been in your shirt. “You’re pathetic. I can’t believe that Hill pulled you into his petty bullshit with Herbert.”

“Is it West? Are the two of you-?” Pierce is cut off by your glare and he takes a step back before you even move towards him.

“Don’t bring him up again.” You speak carefully, clenching your fists so you won’t be tempted to use them. “And leave me alone!”

Your voice is loud enough to draw the attention of some passing nurses, who give Pierce disapproving looks and distract him long enough for you to make a break for it and dash into a nearby stairwell. You rush down to the lowest floor, towards the morgue. It’s the same stairwell that you and Herbert had walked up that night.

( _it’s so dark and the smoke is threatening to smother the air from your lungs_

_a strong hand keeps a tight grip on your arm, and another presses a thick wool coat to your chest. there is so much blood, warm and sticky on your heated flesh._

_you’re safe, or at least you hope you are. maybe you’re still going to bleed out. maybe you’re going to burn_

_‘am I going to die?’_

_‘no. calm down’)_

It’s cold down in the morgue and you shiver, wrapping your jacket tighter around your body as you walk down the hall. It looks like nothing happened here. If someone didn’t know, then they would assume that this place hadn’t been the location of one of the worst things to have happened at Miskatonic. Or in Arkham.

“Are you insane?”

You quickly dart across the room and grab Herbert’s arm before he can inject the corpse. He should have been ready to go already. And yet, Herbert is now back up to his old tricks less than a few weeks into the semester. Normally, you wouldn’t be this upset, certainly not enough to grab him and try to pull him away from the corpse. But this was a special case, a question of ethics and you cannot stand idly by. 

“What is your problem?” Herbert snaps, yanking his arm out of your grip. It had actually been painful, but it was soon pushed to the back of his mind. 

“That patient had a DNR. They want to stay dead.” You make sure to enunciate every word, as if he is incapable of understanding you otherwise. 

“Is that all? You’re making such a fuss over nothing.” Herbert begins to go back towards the corpse, but you grab his arm again, keeping him away from the slab. 

“Nothing?” Your eyebrows nearly vanish into your hair, your voice becoming higher from the sheer incredulity in it. “Nothing? Were you off buying new pencils when we learned about ethics? You can’t do this! They had a DNR. They wanted to stay dead!”

“Had a DNR. Past tense. They’re dead. For now. Which means that their wishes no longer apply.” He sneers at your distress, seeing it as silly and slightly hypocritical. “You didn’t seem to mind being unethical in Peru. When my work was beneficial for you.”

“That was different.” Everything in Peru had been different, in more ways than one. Both of you had bent your own personal rules while down there, outright breaking a few. Though as your eyes meet in the dim light of the morgue, you aren’t thinking of the dead soldiers that Herbert had used for his experiments when their efforts to save them had failed.

( _Hands grasping motel sheets, lips on skin, their bodies connected at the core, whispering those three words against each other's mouths,_

_I love you; I love you.)_

“We could get in big trouble just for doing this. Add in the DNR and we’d be so fucked.” Your voice trembles and cracks on the last word as thoughts of expulsion and prison time dance through your head. 

Herbert scoffs at your distress and begins to move towards the slab. But this time, instead of grabbing him, you dart in front of him, standing between him and the body. 

“Get out of my way.” His voice is low, edging on threatening. “Or I will make you.” 

“Fine.” You snarl, practically baring your teeth. Before you step out of the way, you take the head in your hands and smash it against the slab with as much force as you can manage.

You had expected some slight damage, enough to render the body unusable, but keep it intact. Instead, the skull explodes on impact, sending bits of blood, gore and brain matter splattering onto your face and clothing, some of it even landing on Herbert. You can feel the nausea bubbling in your gut as you step back from the body in horror. Herbert scurries towards the table, eager to see the extent of the damage you had done. When he lifts what remains of the head, much to his shock he sees that the slab had been dented. 

It comes together quickly, Herbert’s mind racing as you go to clean up her face. He recalls the vivid bruises you had left all over his body, how your grip is actually painful when you apply force. 

“Fascinating.” Herbert’s tone is nearly one of awe as he holds the head in his hands, assessing the damage. “This must be studied further.” 

“No!” You rush towards him, pushing him away from the corpse and against the wall. “You really are fucking cracked. We need to fix this here and now, not bring it home!” Your hands grab his arms and hold him against the wall and when Herbert tries to wiggle out of your grasp, he finds that he could not. Your strength is keeping him pinned against the wall and the realization hits him hard enough to nearly knock the air from his lungs. 

This had been his doing. His reagent hadn’t only repaired your hands, it had improved them. You can smash a skull like a melon, dent metal and could keep a grown man against a wall with very little effort. Herbert wants to see what else you can do, his eyes lighting up at the mere thought of the possibilities. 

You feel sick, your heart thudding violently in your chest as you come to the same conclusions. The reagent had changed you on the inside, something you hadn’t realized could happen until right now. You look up at him, fear meeting delight. You haven’t been this close since that night, avoiding each other’s personal space to prevent another foolish mistake. But right now, emotions are high and you are so close, your bodies crushed together in this dark room…

The sound of footsteps brings you out of your thoughts and both of you realize that it is too late to do anything to cover up what had happened. Though as your eyes fall on his mouth, you realize that there is one thing, one last ditch effort to save your skins. 

When Ernest opens the door, he is greeted with the sight of those two weird fourth year med students making out right in front of him. The way the door opened hides his view of the right side of the room and more importantly, of the body with the bust open skull. All he can see was Herbert grabbing your hips and then catching sight of Ernest, his eyes growing comically large. 

“Hey, don’t mind me, lovebirds. I won’t say nothin’ if you finish up in here for me.” Which includes taking a certain body to the crematorium. That is more than okay with the pair currently locked in an intense embrace. 

“Sure, Ernest,” You manage to get out, glancing at him over your shoulder. 

“Cool. Have fun and remember to lock the door next time.” Ernest winks at Herbert and leaves. As soon as his footsteps were no longer audible, they sprung apart, you wiping her mouth with the back of your hand. 

“You take the body, I’ll clean up in here,” you say and Herbert nods in agreement, both of them trying not to think about how he had kissed back.

**iii**

Ten minutes ago, you had been up in your room, getting ready for a night out with your girlfriends, thoughts of your roommate’s experiments far from your mind. You were thinking about mixed drinks, loud music and being around normal people. And now, you are being confronted with a perversion of science as you watch Herbert handle the fresh-looking human heart. Meg’s heart, you thought, your head spinning for a moment. Herbert had stolen it, somehow the organ looked like he had just ripped it out of her chest. And he had plans for it. 

And in that moment, you reached your limit when it came to Herbert and his ‘work’. If it could even be called that at this point. You can hardly hear him as he spoke of creating a new life, starting with Meg’s heart. But you do hear Dan’s pained, almost hopeful ‘yes’ and it breaks your own heart. So you speak up. 

“No. No. This is too far.” You had thought the finger creature was odd, but a creative exercise in its own way. That was something you could live with, literally. You had grown to love Addams. But this went against every possible law that was out there. He couldn’t...do that. It can only end in a disaster that would make what had happened last year look like child’s play.

“Your opinion is irrelevant, Y/N” Herbert sneers, hardly even looking at you as he spits out your name like it’s a curse, the venom in his voice even making Dan raise an eyebrow. 

“The fuck it isn’t, Herbert.” You say his name with equal vitriol. “I live here and this time, we’re all paying equal shares. Which means that I have an equal voice. And even if that wasn’t the case, this is still my home. This is sick, this is dangerous.” You cast a glance at the heart, the sight making the bile rise your throat. “I refuse to let you play God like this.” Meg had suffered enough. She needed to be allowed to rest in peace. You are willing to burn bridges with the closest thing to family that you have left. This was the hill that you are willing to die on. 

“You didn’t mind my playing God with your hands. I seem to recall that you were strongly in favor of my work when it would benefit you.” Herbert is smug as he reminds you of how he had gone out of his way to help her. After all, he could have just left you to suffer with the nerve damage. It had been his idea to use a form of his reagent to repair your hands. You hadn’t come to him begging for help, so it would have been equally ethical to do nothing. At least in theory. 

“We both know why I even needed your help in the first place.” You slam your hands on the table, making the heart leap into the air for a brief moment. At least you hadn’t dented this table. “Speaking of that night, we’re the only reason you’re not in prison for murdering Dr. Hill. I saw you cut off his head with a fucking shovel. You told Dan what you did. But we helped you get away with it.”

Herbert opens his mouth to remind you of why you had even been able to help cover up the murder, but the words wouldn’t form. The implication disturbed him, and even Herbert knew that it would...trouble his roommates. So, he takes a different route with his next attack, still not willing to let you have the last word. 

“If Dan is willing to participate, then I do not see the problem.” Herbert keeps his voice even, his gaze unflinching. 

“Because you’re taking advantage of his grief! Just because he’s not crying himself to sleep every night doesn’t mean he’s totally over it!” You retort.

“Dan is a grown man. He can make his own decisions.”

“I know that you love to pretend you are above emotions, Herbert. But imagine that you weren’t.” You spit out ‘love’, as if you are underlining it for emphasis. A reminder of his moment of vulnerability, even though it had been yours as well. You might have said it first, but he had said it back. 

“And you love to spin fanciful tales, which you just freely admitted.” It isn’t the most logical comeback without context. But with it, it was a cutting remark that made you feel as if he had punched you in the chest. Because you had meant it, what you had said that night. The implication that it had been a lie lanced a part of you that you didn't even think existed. 

With the wound still gaping and bloody, you go on the offensive, hardly even noticing Dan is still in the room. “You are not a scientist. You’re a narcissist with a God complex. But you’re not God, Herbert. What you are is a scared little man.” Every word is barked out viciously, you are going for his throat. 

And Herbert was going right for yours. “As I said previously, your opinion is irrelevant.” He looks you up and down scornfully, sneering at your outfit, a short black, lacy dress and a denim jacket paired with heels that give you a couple extra inches of height. “It seems that you have shifted your priorities.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you have chosen to spend your time gallivanting around town instead of being in the lab.” 

“Well, maybe if certain company wasn’t so fucking unbearable, I would be here more often!” You surge forward, leaning over the table to get as in his face as possible. “Instead of trying to get away from this place and a particular person in it!”

“If anyone is making this house unbearable, it’s you!” Herbert leans in as well, nearly closing the gap between the two of you. You’re leaning over the heart and Dan swears that it is beating. Or maybe that’s his own, reacting frantically to this strange incident playing out before him. “Maybe if you were helpful, I could put up with the stench of your perfume and your -.”

“Oh, fuck you, West!” You cut him off before he can list off other things that made you unbearable to live with. 

“I’ll leave that to one of your gentleman callers.” Herbert gives you another contemptuous look, his eyes lingering on your hands, remembering how they had felt when they had been freshly wounded. 

_(how they had felt when they had cradled his face.)_

“You need to start thinking outside the box. Maybe Hill was right-”

One of those hands, the one with the deep scar across your palm, comes up and strikes his face, knocking his glasses to the floor. 

The silence was broken by the sound of the doorbell. “That’s my ride.” You push all of her emotions and force yourself to smile. “Go to hell, Herbert. See you later, Dan.”

“Is there something that you need to tell me?” Dan asks once you are gone and Herbert has found his glasses, which are miraculously still in one piece. 

“No. Why would you ask me that?” Herbert stomps past him and up the stairs, not even bothering to pack up the heart in his fit of pique. That was left up to Dan, who placed Meg’s heart back in the bag and into the freezer, lingering before he shut the door. 

\--

“I’m so sorry, Meg. You deserved better.” You stare down at the heart literally in your hands. “I wish I didn't have to do this…” 

The night out had gone fine. You had finally been able to apply your favorite red lipstick in the car on your way to the bar, leaning out of the passenger side window to apply it at a red light. And then again, in the harsh light of the bar bathroom, you had been able to do it again, even looking right at your own face in the mirror.

_(smeared red lipstick makes you think of something else red smudged on your face._

_For a moment, you taste it and you have to force yourself to push the thought out of your head or else you’ll start screaming on the spot)_

But you’d had a different experience than all of your friends. They had been able to flirt, dance, have fun. The incident in the basement had hung over you like a dark cloud, making you unable to enjoy the night in full. It didn’t help that even in the bar’s lighting, people kept giving you that look that you had become far too familiar with. 

Is…oh there is something wrong with your face. I want to ask, but I can’t. Can I?

So, you had come home early, taking a cab back to the house. And as you had passed by the basement door on your way to the kitchen, you had been seized with an impulse and seeing Herbert not in the lab had spurred you on and now you were walking up the stairs, heading towards the kitchen, the heart in your hands. 

Dan hears you stumbling into the kitchen and he pokes his head in just in time to see you set the heart down on the counter and start rifling through the drawers, clearly looking for something. He rushes to get Herbert right away, figuring that whatever you’re doing can’t be good news and he thinks that he might need help to stop you. 

While he’s upstairs, you find the meat tenderizer and weigh it in your hands for a few moments before you turn to the heart on the counter. You unwrap the heart and place it on the thick cutting board, standing over the organ with a lump in your throat. “I don’t know any prayers, Meg. So, all I can say is that I’m sorry. Again.” Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes and bring down the mallet. It doesn’t break apart on impact, like the skull, but you feel encouraged enough to do it again. 

The heart is in pieces, splattered all over the cutting board, when Dan and Herbert run into the kitchen. You’re gasping, your hand is shaking, but you still raise the mallet for another strike. 

“What are you doing? Have you gone mad?” Herbert yells as Dan moves towards you. He recoils when you shriek at him, a violent cry of pure anger. You whirl around, facing the men, your eyes darting to and fro wildly, as if assessing who was the bigger threat. 

“I’m saving us! This could only take us to a place that I don’t want any of us to go!” You grab what remains of Meg’s heart and raise the hand holding it a rabid expression twisting your features to the point where the men hardly recognize you. “This is crazy, Herbert and you’ll thank me later.”

Before you can make another move, Herbert is right in front of you, trying to get what remains of Meg’s heart out of your hand. “You didn’t think I was crazy in Peru,” he murmurs as you struggle. The look in his eyes gives away what he was actually talking about, and there is a pause, you taking in what he had just said. 

With a wretched howl, you shove Herbert back with your free hand, using all of your might. He stumbles back, nearly knocking Dan over. The two men could only watch as you raise your other hand, the one holding the last chunk of Meg’s heart, to your mouth. Before either of them could even move to stop her, your teeth tear into the organ. 

It tastes...wrong. There is a vaguely metallic rawness to the flesh in your mouth. It tastes like some sort of chemical as well as raw meat and you wonder if it was the reagent or whatever they had used in hospital storage. You can feel fluid around your mouth, as your hand is still pressing the other half against your face. You drop the last bit to the floor and stomp on it, still holding the last chunk in your mouth. 

“Do you have any idea what you have just done?” Herbert yells, rushing at you, grabbing you by the shoulders, shaking you, as if that would make you see his point of view. 

In response, you spit out the chunk of Meg’s heart still in your mouth. It splatters onto his cheek and falls to the floor, joining the other remains. An eerie silence settles over the kitchen. Meg’s heart is gone. It had been the last bit of her left on earth and now it was no more, nearly obliterated. There would be no way to fix it. Megan Halsey was now gone forever. 

“I can’t...I just can’t.” Dan raises his hands and storms out of the basement, unable to handle what had just happened. He is going to need more than a moment or two to process this. 

Once again, it was just you and Herbert in a room with one of them covered in blood. Though in this case, it was a far less bloody scene and there isn’t a body to take care of. You just stare at each other for maybe a few seconds or even several minutes. Time has lost all meaning. 

Herbert moves first, taking a paper towel and dampening it before he took your face into one of his hands. Looking into your eyes, he cleaned the mix of red off of your face. Several shades of red are on the paper towel by the time he’s done, lipstick, blood and whatever else commingling. 

Once the paper towel is in the sink, Herbert takes your face in both hands, pressing his forehead against yours.

( _for a moment, you’re back in the hotel room._

_the sheets are softer than anything you’ve felt in months and it's a relief to be on a proper mattress but that isn’t what either of you are focusing on._

_Someone else is finally right there with you, there is a warm body moving with yours and everything is beautiful and nothing hurts-)_

“I’m-.”

But before he can finish his sentence, you’re pushing him away and then, Herbert is left alone in the kitchen, surrounded by the bits of Meg’s heart. 

**iv**

_“You look the same.”_

_Herbert’s voice breaks through the quiet of the small kitchen of the house that the three of you are staying in. It’s not quite dawn yet, but you’ve been up all night. At some point, you made yourself some oatmeal and managed to eat most of it. But you’ve been standing at the sink for what feels like forever, staring at your reflection in the glass._

_The scar is starting to enter the final stages. It will likely always be something you’re able to feel, something you can’t ignore. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to live your life without noticing it. Or if the sight of your own face will always disgust you._

_“Are you blind?”_

_Your eyes meet in the glass and Herbert doesn’t break the quasi-eye contact when he responds. “Your face is just as pleasing to look at as it was before.”_

_“Jesus, you sure know how to make a girl feel good about herself.”_

_You run your tongue over your lower lip, feeling the scarred space as you mull over his words._

_“That wasn’t my intent.” Herbert fumbles for a response and he’s not sure if it’s a smooth recovery. “I am merely stating the facts.”_

_But there is a moment when both of you just look at each other and there is an understanding, something unspoken passing between you before Herbert turns away and you resume washing the dish, a little smile on your lips._

**v**

The sound of Ghost yowling is coming from your room and Herbert can hear it from his own quarters and that is the only reason he even goes into your room at all even though you’re not home.

The atmosphere in the house is only now starting to get back to normal, several weeks since that night. You had stayed in bed for the entire weekend and then spent the following week with some friends, the guys only seeing you during classes/rotations. When you had returned, you would only speak to Dan for days and even as of the current day, you will only speak to Herbert when necessary. 

When Herbert steps into your bedroom, the cat ceases its cacophony and he realizes that this is the first time he’s been in your room here. He’d spent a lot of time in your room back at the old house and at the accommodations in Peru, but he never took the time to explore either space. Right now, he’s confronted with the smell of your perfume and the sight of your bed with rumpled sheets and no one else is in the house to stop him. 

Your scrubs are crumpled on the floor and some tops are slung over the back of your desk chair. There are notes all over the desk, pens and highlighters also scattered about. Posters adorn the walls for bands and movies Herbert has never heard of, save for Star Trek. 

Your dresser has an open jewelry box on top of it and Herbert suddenly can’t recall if he’s ever seen you wear jewelry before. There is a framed photograph near the back of you as a child with two people that he realizes must have been your deceased parents. There are coins, makeup, a cat toy, some more pens and other bits of this or that cluttering the dresser top. 

When he opens the top drawer, he spots the picture instantly. It seems that you were looking at it before you left. 

Herbert claims he destroyed his copy of the photograph Francesca had taken of him with your finger in his mouth. It’s still in his possession, also kept in his top dresser drawer. He looks at it sometimes and wonders where it all went wrong. Much to his frustration, how he wound up under your spell, ensnared in your jaws, is still a mystery. 

The sound of the damn cat rings out again, coming from the closet. Herbert sighs and opens the door but doesn’t find the beast. He’s inside of your closet when he hears the sound of your bedroom door opening and he can only think to mostly close the closet door rather than try to flee. 

Through the crack in the door, he can see you and a man walk into the room, all giggles. You say something that he can’t quite make out and then Herbert is faced with the sight of you pushing the man onto your bed and straddling him. He can’t see what you’re doing, but the sounds that he does hear are wet and he needs to angle himself a little differently to get a proper view. 

In less than two minutes, your shirt has come off, joining your scrubs on the floor. Your bra is red because of course it is and you’re giggling as the man’s hands rub your sides. There is a little moan as his hips rock against yours, but it rings false to him. 

_(he remembers what you really sound like, after all)_

“What the hell was that?” the man asks, and Herbert realizes that he must have knocked something over. 

“Probably just my cat,” you reply as you unbutton your jeans and your date’s arm moves. 

As if that horrid little creature had been waiting for the worst possible moment, Ghost yowls and begins to bounce around the closet, reminding Herbert of the incident with Dan’s former cat. The commotion causes Herbert to fall out of the space, the cat still shrieking, though the sound of you yelling at him soon joins the fray. 

“What the fuck are you doing in my room?” You’re smacking at him and your date is leaving the room, muttering his goodbyes and then your attention is focused on trying to get him to stay, giving Herbert the perfect opportunity to slip out of the chaos and down to his laboratory. He can still hear you talking to your date and even hear the man running down the stairs just before he slammed the door to his lab shut. 

“So, do you have a voyeurism kink, or did you just want to fuck up my evening?”

You’re perched on the kitchen counter when Herbert comes up from the basement about twenty minutes after he had gone down to the basement. He wonders how long you had been there, waiting for him. It seems like you’ve been there since your date left, as you’re still in your undone jeans and bra, your red lipstick smeared around your mouth. The sight of your red mouth elicits a particular twitch in Herbert, and he tries to hide the feelings you’re provoking in him. So he goes to rinse out his bowl, trying to keep that stoic façade up. 

_(images of your mouth, bloody in the dim light of the tent, kiss swollen and wet in the motel room_

_those times when your mouth was his_

_when his mouth was yours)_

“Your damn cat was making a racket and I went looking for it to make it stop. How could I have known that you would be bringing some random gentleman caller home?”

“There were other things you could have done! But instead you decided to watch like a fucking creep!” Your anger only makes those thoughts come faster and faster and then you hop down from the counter, looking as if you’re going to approach him. “Do you have any idea what you fucked up? Someone was going to see me. Touch me.”

“Someone already has,” Herbert sneers in response, grabbing you by the hips and pushing you against the sink. 

“So what happened in Peru counts now? Are you going to acknowledge what we did?”

“And what exactly did we do?” 

Neither of you want the other to be the one who says what happened out loud. To not be the one who finally breaks.

You are the one who gives, but it’s a ploy. “Your mouth was all over my body, Herbert,” you whisper, grabbing his hand and gliding his fingertips along the scar that runs from one clavicle to the other. Dropping his hand, you arch her back and whisper in his ear. “Especially here. And then in that hotel room, we made love. You were inside of me because you needed it, didn’t you? You needed poor, silly Y/N and her fucked up, mutilated body.”

Despite your harsh words and the slight quaver in your voice, Herbert can feel himself start to engorge, his pants becoming tighter as he presses against you, trying not to grind his hips. “I…” he says, unable to formulate a response. 

“You fucked up my night, Dr. West,” you hiss, the use of the title making him groan softly. After that, you hop onto the counter, sitting right in front of the sink, not paying the still-running water any mind. “So why don’t you get on your knees and make it up to me?”

Herbert hesitates for a moment and then he actually does it. 

There is a long silence before your hand grips his hair and shoves his face between your spread legs. He quickly pulls down your jeans and tosses them to the floor. As Herbert’s hands come up again and start to slide up her thighs, you let go of his hair. “Use your mouth, Doctor,” you sneer. 

It takes a while for him to actually do as you had asked. By the time he actually gets your underwear off and you’re shaking your leg to get them off, you had been on the verge of shoving him away and either taking care of that part yourself or just going upstairs to forget this endeavor entirely. 

“Do you even know-...Oh Jesus Christ!” You had been on the verge of taunting Herbert when his tongue was suddenly on you, wet and warm, eagerly all over that part of you. You have no idea what to expect, only having done this once with a man who was done after a minute or two of mechanical licking, so he could have gotten away with being terrible at it. For a brief moment, you wonder if he is bad and you just don’t know any better, but then he finds your clit, some of their schooling having a new use and you stop thinking entirely. 

The sounds of your moans of pleasure are muffled by the running water and your thighs being pressed against his ears half the time, but Herbert can hear enough to make him want to keep doing his, his tongue eagerly exploring your cunt. He’s only read about this, so he knows what to do in theory. But he finds himself enthralled by the smell, the taste of you and he’s luxuriating in the experience. 

The sink is starting to overflow when you lean down a bit and open your legs so he can properly hear you. "Do you like the taste of him on me?" You tease him as water begins to cascade down the counter, neither of you really noticing. 

In response, Herbert hooks your legs under his arms properly and sucks your clit between his lips, making you howl in response, kicking at nothing. It’s almost too much, but you don’t want to stop, not now, not ever. Thankfully, his mouth releases the sensitive nub before you start crying and you’re able to get some control back. 

By the time you’re grinding against his face, gripping his hair tightly, Herbert is soaking wet from the sink overflowing onto him and you are continuously moaning, making noises that sound like you’re rioting, your self-control is long gone by now. 

“I’m gonna-...fuck you! Goddammit, Herbert!” When you do come, you force his face to be flush with your core, coming all over his mouth and chin. His glasses are pushed to the top of his forehead, nearly falling off as her hips buck wildly. 

When you are done, you take a moment before you hop off the counter and look down at Herbert, who is still on his knees. He’s drenched, his hair sticking to his face and his shirt nearly see-through. His glasses are askew, making him look almost helpless

“That was not bad, West.” You start to leave, grabbing your jeans off the floor and seeing him begin to get up. “I didn’t say you could move. Take a few minutes. Think about what you’ve done.”

That’s how you leave him, kneeling on the water covered kitchen floor. You are thankful that he can’t see how much you’re shaking as you walk away, eventually collapsing onto your bed and giggling madly into your pillow. 

Herbert gets up as soon as he hears you walk up the stairs. He rises to his feet, finally turning off the sink. He doesn’t do anything else to clean up the mess, as his attention is focused on his arousal, which is practically taking on a life of its own. He storms down to the basement, slamming the doors shut and locking the one to the lab so no one will bother him. 


	6. drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An entire chapter devoted to how it goes from a one time thing to something that happens on a regular basis. Borderline plotless, really.

**ⅰ**

“What the hell happened last night?” Dan asks. “When I got home, there was water all over the kitchen, and I’m going to assume those were your panties on the floor. So, I guess your date went well?”

In response, you smirk and make a peace sign, waggling your tongue between your fingers. Dan makes a disgusted noise, but he’s chuckling a moment later as he goes to rinse his bowl of cereal. Herbert shoots you a death glare when Dan’s back is turned, which only spurs you on more. “You could say that. He was willing to take a trip downtown, but he was merely…adequate.” 

“Ouch,” Dan winces out of sympathy, not noticing Herbert gripping the sides of the counter so hard that his knuckles were white while his face was starting to flush. 

“You didn’t sound like he was doing an adequate job,” Herbert sneers, unable to help himself. “In fact, you sounded like you were having a damn good time.”

“Were you listening to them?” Dan sounds horrified and you just smirk. “God, Herbert…you need to learn about boundaries.”

“With all the noise she was making, it felt like I was right there,” Herbert replies and it’s now your turn to scowl. You flip him off and stomp out of the room, leaving Dan to mumble some more about respect while Herbert’s face is now impassive as he pretends to listen to his roommate’s lecture. 

**ⅱ**

The kitchen incident had been on a Saturday night. 

By Tuesday, Herbert is a man possessed, consumed with desire, an obsessive desire that feels threatening. He finds himself practically bent over in the shower, digging his nails into his thigh as he feels desire pulse through him. His other hand is braced against the wall, keeping himself up as he breathes heavily, trying to will all of this away. 

He will not give in, he will not give in. 

Blood has seemingly drained away from his brain and settled between his legs, a physiological impossibility that feels very probable right now. Herbert can feel his erection bob with every movement he dares to make and he needs to clench his jaw tightly to keep from groaning out loud when it smacks gently against his abdomen after he bends over just a little bit more. 

When he moves to bat it down, as if that would help, Herbert’s fingers graze along the scar from the explosion incident. The scar from the stitches you had given him. 

Something forms in his throat and he can feel your fingers inside of him for a moment. Herbert draws blood on his thigh as he remembers the sight of your fingers in the slit in his midsection, the sensation of your digits moving inside that warm, wet wound for what had only been seconds, but felt like an eternity. Herbert hadn’t heard anything, but he imagines that there had been a slick sound as you pulled out your fingers.

Not for the first time, he wonders how it had felt for you. To have your fingers inside of him, if you had felt him pulsing around your fingers, warm and wet, if you had felt anything in the moment or afterwards. 

The drag of your fingers as you had pulled out of the gash had hurt, but even the memory of that unique pain doesn’t make it stop. His length still juts out obscenely, flushed a darker shade than the rest of his pale body, rigid and unyielding, no matter what he did. A bead of pre-ejaculate fluid has gathered on the tip and when he goes to wipe it away, a jolt of sensation lances through his body, reminding him of that night. 

Before he can stop himself, Herbert has wrapped his hand around the tip and remembers the last time someone had touched him. 

_(the contrast of smooth skin and rough scar tissue shouldn't have felt so good but it makes his entire body shudder and he moans brokenly against the crook of your shoulder as his own fingers dip run along your slit before dipping inside, feeling how warm and wet you were_

_felt your desire, which was just for him_

_you were just for him and he was just for you and everything was alright)_

His hand moves along his shaft just once and Herbert forces his hand away and stands up, breathing heavily. He curses you, curses your entire existence and then he finds his hand around himself again as he remembers how he had been the one to finish you off that night and he swore that he could faintly taste you on his tongue again. 

The memory of being between your thighs, how you had so easily commanded him, made Herbert’s hand move roughly for a few moments. A knock on the door and the sound of Dan’s voice asking if he was going to be done any time soon made him stop, both to his relief and consternation. 

Damn you, he thought as he walked past your room, where he could hear you moving about, as if you hadn’t done this to him. 

**ⅲ**

It is Friday night and the first night that Herbert and you have been alone in the house together since that night nearly a week ago. 

Dan is out with some of your classmates, enjoying happy hour(s). You had to stay a little longer at the hospital, not that you would have gone anyway. Nights out were rare for you before the ‘incident’. The last time you had gone out had been the night you had stopped Herbert from using Meg’s heart for his latest scheme. And your shift at the hospital had ended with you being sprayed with blood. Not super unusual, but it was damn irritating and even before the incident would have killed your desire to party. So you had gone straight home, not even stopping to get something to eat. 

The house is silent when you get home. Ghost and Addams are playing with a ball of yarn when you walk into the house, the latter scrambling over to you to welcome you home. You give it a quick kiss before setting the finger creature back down and heading up to your room. 

Herbert comes up from the basement a few moments later and can hear you walking around. He goes upstairs as well, to get a book from his room. It has nothing to do with you, honestly. And yet, when he passes your half-open door, he doesn’t stop himself from glancing into the room. 

You were in the process of removing your scrub top. Both your top and pants are covered in blood and so is some of your hair, your hands and even your face. Not your mouth.

_(which is good because Herbert doesn’t know what he would do or feel if your mouth was red and bloody)_

Looking up, you stare at Herbert as your shirt drops to the floor. His eyes lock with yours and an ugly thrill runs through both of you. 

The smart thing to do would be to slam the door in his face, tell Herbert to fuck off. 

But all of this started because you had done the dumb thing. 

So you stare right at Herbert as you reach behind your back and unhook your bra, allowing it to fall to the floor. Silence still reigns as you hook your thumbs onto the waistband of your pants and pull them down. You have to look down to get them off from around your ankles and when you look back up, Herbert is gone. 

Your heart is still pounding when you grab your robe and make your way to the bathroom. The incident has been on your mind multiple times a day since it happened. Sometimes, you’ll be doing rotations and catch a glimpse of Herbert and his mouth would jump out at you and you would be mentally reliving the best orgasm of your life. 

Fantasy has never been a part of your stress relief routine in the past, but in the shower, you find yourself thinking of what could have happened in your room. 

_(hands pushing yours aside so he could undress you._

_on the floor next to your bloody clothes, bodies intertwined_

_maybe you would have been the one on your knees this time)_

Moaning wordlessly, your hand found itself between your legs, the other going to hold onto the rail on the shower door. Soon, your legs are trembling as you get yourself off with an assist from the showerhead. Dan’s not home and this is Herbert’s fault, so you don’t try to muffle your sounds. Not that you’re sure how much he can hear, but it doesn’t matter to you. 

After your shower, you go downstairs. There are some videotapes calling your name and you might as well have some movies on while you study. Coffee is also calling your name and so is the little bottle of whiskey you had scored on the plane months ago. Those two, combined with a more than healthy dollop of whipped cream, in a giant mug, make the perfect study beverage.

You pop in Hellraiser and open up a book on internal medicine. The drink is a sweet burn and just what you need right now. There isn’t even enough whiskey in it to get Ghost drunk, but it hits the spot anyway. 

Upstairs, Herbert is currently in a hell of his own. He’s on his bed, pants undone and his fist around his length. He’s thick and heavy in his own hand as behind closed eyes, he pictures you. Your defiant gaze as you had undressed in front of him. Daring him to look, daring him to touch. And then the other memories, of your warm thighs around his head, of being inside of you, making you fall apart with his body. 

_(show me you whisper against his mouth and he does show you just what you’re doing to him_

_what he sees, what you make him feel)_

It seems fitting that the only time he gives into his urges, he can’t finish himself off. Herbert lets out a grunt of frustration as he realizes, yet again, that he can’t quite manage a grand finale. Nothing seems to bring him that final satisfaction and he realizes why in a burst of clarity that carries him through tucking himself back into his pants and down the stairs.

You’re curled up on the couch, a mug between your hands, a textbook abandoned on your lap as your attention is focused on the movie you’re watching. Herbert just stands there for a moment, watching you. You’re wearing a Miskatonic sweatshirt and a pair of shorts that he recognizes as the ones you had slept in during the summer. 

_(the ones that you had removed in the dark, under the blanket, so the two of you could be skin to skin_

_the ones that he had wanted to remove himself but never did)_

“What do you want?” 

“I have an...issue.” Herbert’s teeth are gritted as he forces out the words. His eyes flick downwards and yours follow suit. You can see the ‘issue’ right before your eyes and it just makes you smirk. 

“That seems like a you problem, West.”

But you can’t deny the kick it gives you to see that he’s hard, wanting. And his next words nearly make you launch yourself off the sofa so you can tackle him and give him the ride of his life.

“This is your fault.” Herberth is seething, color rising to his cheeks. 

“My fault?” You raise an eyebrow and snort. 

“Yes, your fault. You’ve...done something to me. And I can’t get rid of it!”

“Say it.” There is a pause and you stand up, walking over to him. “Say it, and I’ll give you what you want.” You smirk and look into his eyes. Some of the control you lost during that night in the morgue is back in your hands and you are going to enjoy it for as long as you can, stretch it out in any way that you can. 

Herbert glares down at you and you’re still smirking. He knows that he doesn’t have to say a damn thing. He can go upstairs and try to take care of this issue or go down to the lab and ignore it until it goes away. 

And yet…

“You have aroused me and I want you to do something about it.” He grabs your face, your mouth between his thumb and index finger. There is a pause before he tacks on one last word. “Please.”

As it turns out, ‘please’ is a magic word. 

You push him onto the chair, nearly knocking over the half-full mug of coffee onto the carpet. “I thought you were above such primitive urges, West.” You knelt in front of him and yanked his shirt out from his pants, undoing every button that you could reach. Not all of them, but enough for you to be able to reach the scar on his abdomen. 

Kneeling between his spread legs, you pressed your mouth to it, cutting off his response to your statement. The mutual sensation of scar tissue meeting unmarred flesh made both of you shiver, Herbert looking down to watch. He’s shaking before you even undo his belt. 

“Eager, aren’t we?” You take in the sight of his cock, flushed nearly an angry red and practically weeping. And all just for you. Slowly, you swirl your tongue around the tip and Herbert lets out a high pitched cry and his hips jerk upwards, his hands going into your hair, pushing your head downwards. 

Pulling your mouth off him, you grab his hands and pin his wrists to the seat of the chair. “Do you want me to stop? Then cut that shit out.” 

When you let go, Herbert doesn’t grab your hair again. Instead he watches for as long as he can, fascinated by the sight of your lips around his shaft, how you’re taking more and more of him every moment. Your mouth is unlike anything he has ever felt before, your mouth is wet and a different kind of warm, almost welcoming. The feeling of your tongue on him while he is in your mouth is heaven and as your mouth tightens, Herbert cries out, as if you’re sucking the life force out of him. 

It feels almost like being worshipped and cared for all at once. You’re on your knees for him, he’s in your mouth. His body is vibrating from the inside and it doesn’t take long for him to finish, coming in your mouth, down your throat. 

The only sound for a few moments is the movie. Herbert is still gasping, breathing heavily, and you’re trying to catch your breath, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

When Herbert finally looks at you as you stand up, your mouth is red, looking almost a bit swollen and he knows why you look like that. You look how he feels and he can’t stop himself from hauling you onto his lap and kissing you on the mouth as hard as he can. It’s impulsive, it’s primal, it should feel wrong and he expects you to smack him. 

Instead you kiss him back, yanking on his hair and shoving your tongue into his mouth. You begin to grind on his thigh, the layers not doing much for you, but it was just enough. Just enough to make you start undoing the remaining buttons of his shirt. 

And finally, Herbert gets to remove those shorts. 

It isn’t like the last time. You pin him to the chair as you ride him, your pace frenzied, almost enraged. Herbert gives as good as he’s getting, his hands digging into your hips, blunt nails cutting into your tender flesh as your grip ensures he will be bruised the next day. 

The only hints of what it had been like before had been when you had gone to pin his shoulders and you had hesitated, remembering what had happened that night, becoming unsure if it was the right thing to do and he had guided your hands to him, as if to say _do it_. And when you had hissed in pain following his nails slashing your skin, Herbert had stopped and stared at you, his head slightly tilted, asking if you were alright. You had responded by riding him harder, as if calling him out for being too careful. 

Both of you were still mostly clothed, your sweatshirt hiding most of the action while your shorts and underwear are on the floor and Herbert’s shirt is on but open and his pants are barely pulled down. But both of you still imagine what it would be like without clothing. He pictures watching how your body moves, seeing the marks he leaves on you being made. You picture biting that smooth, pale neck, making him bruise and squirm under you. 

When Dan comes home, both of you are on the couch, a different movie playing. You’re still reading and Herbert is going over some notes. 

“It smells weird in here. Have you guys been fucking?” Dan asks, his words slurred by several beers. “No, of course not. Herbert doesn’t fuck.”

You stifle a giggle and Herbert shoots you a dirty look. But he keeps his mouth shut, even though the two of you had just christening the chair less than an hour ago. 

**ⅳ**

“What did you do to Pierce?”

You’re warming up the car in the university’s back parking lot. It’s late, past midnight. This lot is empty, save for your Delta. Herbert is in the passenger seat next to you, wrapped up in that black coat and rubbing his hands together. As usual, he had forgotten his gloves that morning and now his hands are cold. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Herbert’s voice is even as he stares straight ahead. 

“He came up to me today. Said that you must have done something to him because he’s all fucked up. Something about green semen…” 

You aren’t upset about this. Hell, you’re downright joyful. The weak-willed bastard deserved some sort of punishment and you would take him having bright green semen over him merely feeling bad about himself and his wrongdoing. “Shame you have no idea,” you say, glancing over at him. “Because I would love to reward whoever did it. Very personally.”

As it turns out, the backseat of the Delta is big enough for you to thank Herbert the exact way you wanted. 

His body envelops yours in the backseat, the two of you once again only removing the bare minimum of clothing. Herbert is warm, despite the cold outside and you cry out against the lapel of his coat as he thrusts inside you, a sound of pleasure instead of distress. 

There had been no agreement to keep this going after that night in the living room. But there had been no agreement to never do it again. 

The two of you look at each other, bathed in the glow of the parking lot lights and decide that maybe this can happen again. 


	7. i held it in but now it seems you’ve set it running free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to heat up, but with that, comes the whole ‘feelings’ issue that has been lurking in the background for months.

**i**

Herbert collapses on top of you, allowing himself a few moments of what he would consider weakness. His body is limp against yours as he tucks his head in the crook of your neck, harsh breathing washing over your skin as he relaxes his iron grip on your hips, eventually letting you go. You stare up at the ceiling of your bedroom for a few moments after he finishes before turning your gaze elsewhere. Idly, one of your hands goes to gently stroke his hair. 

Rather than pull away, Herbert leans into your touch. These moments of tenderness are rare and few between and it’s a gamble whether or not one of you accepts it when it is offered. But when it is accepted, both of you quietly savor it. 

The sheets are mussed and the room smells like sex, that heady scent of the two of you blended together. Herbert gets off you to clean himself up and get dressed. You spray a bit of air freshener to break up the scent, just in case. No one knows and no one needs to know. 

“Alright?” you ask as you notice the marks that you had left on his hips, arms and back. Scratches, gouges, future bruises are littered all over him and you can’t help but feel a faint glimmer of pride. He will have to cover them up and maybe he will be uncomfortable. No one will know but you and that’s what you want. 

“Of course I am,” Herbert sharply replies as he pulls on his trousers, looking at you over his shoulder. “Don’t-.”

“Whatever you're thinking, that is not it,” you retort, sitting up fully and inspecting your own damage. Some finger marks on your hips and faint claw marks on your thighs, but those will fade, the former might not even bruise. “Just wanted to say that if you want me to hold back, I can.” You know that you can, or else school and work would have even more complications. 

“There is no need to treat me like one of your gentlemen callers. I’m not some inept milquetoast that you picked up somewhere. We’re not sweethearts.” He practically spits out the last word and you roll your eyes. 

“Trust me, I know that. You’re barely my friend, much less my boyfriend.” 

And yet, when your eyes meet, the two of you are reminded of how the two of you are undoubtedly bonded, had been since that night. The night when the two of you had seen each other at your lowest points, unable to turn to anyone else. Both of you had seen each other battered, bruised, covered in blood, barely able to stand, but somehow making it out of there alive. You had seen each other naked, vulnerable, needing help when you hadn’t before. You had asked him to stay, to get into your bed and he had broken down in your arms, almost as if in return. 

“I’m glad we’re in agreement,” Herbert says stiffly. 

_ (whatever this is, it is and isn’t friendship _

_ not that it matters _

_ both of you are in too deep to get out) _

**ii**

It’s irrational. Asinine. Nonsensical. Your feelings are probably wrong.

But that isn’t stopping you from shoving Herbert against the wall of the morgue, pinning him there as you kiss him so hard it actually hurts a bit. 

It had started a few days ago, when some of the med students met with some of the PhD students in one of the campus labs. For once, Herbert had been up to some honest science, hence his use of the school labs. You had been working on your own stuff and had almost not seen it. 

But to the surprise of both you and Dan, Herbert had started chatting with one of the PhDs, a woman from Germany named Petra. They had been speaking German, though about what you couldn’t tell. 

Of course, just seeing Herbert talk to another woman hadn’t upset you. In fact, by that night, you had completely forgotten about her. But then, Petra had kept coming around, seeking Herbert out. It was starting to become irritating. 

As you had watched the two of them the day before, you couldn’t help but compare. Petra was tall, blonde, gorgeous. She dressed well. She didn’t have scars on her face. You wondered if her insides matched her outsides. And then today, seeing Perta run a hand down his arm had made your stomach twist. So when Herbert had snuck down to the morgue after a long shift, rather than wait in the cafeteria like you usually did, you had followed him down there. It was late, no one was around, not even security, so it was fine. Just as safe as a broom closet. 

“What-?” Herbert asks when you break the kiss, both of you breathing heavily. He has no idea what had gotten into you, why you had followed him, why any of this was happening, but he is finding it difficult to think very clearly. You’re pressed against him in a very purposeful way, one that he’s become familiar with. 

It doesn’t occur to him that you’re jealous. Herbert acknowledges that Petra is an attractive woman with some interesting things to say, but he doesn’t think much of her. He had been irked by her touching his arm, unsure of what she had meant by that. But she had been out of sight, out of mind. 

Your mouth is soon on his neck, pressing rough, sloppy kisses along it. Herbert lets out a shuddering moan, rocking his hips in response. It’s a sensitive spot, much to his shame. He’s always managed to hide his reactions during past encounters, or at least only react when other things were happening, so it would be masked. But now, he’s unable to do either, exposing his weakness. 

When you realize what your mouth is doing to him, you pull back and grin. Your smile looks almost like a snarl and there is red lipstick smeared around your mouth. 

_ (blood smeared around your mouth) _

It makes him throb and he wonders how much of the red is staining his skin. Herbert would loathe this weakness later, but in the moment, he merely moans as you return to him, your mouth once again all over his neck. 

Herbert nearly whines as your teeth scrap over his pulse point. You can feel him throbbing even through all of the layers. If only you could just look upwards and see his reactions, but the sounds were just as good. 

The sound that he makes when you clamp your teeth on his tender flesh makes you moan wantonly, heat pooling between your thighs. Herbert is gasping, fucking whimpering, even before you do it again. He squirms against you as you practically attack him, alternating between aggressive kisses and fierce bites. 

When you pull away and say “Counter. Now.” Herbert has never been more willing to follow orders. The two of you maneuver over to the counter, one of the only surely clean spaces in this whole area. You allow Herbert to push you against the counter and then hoist you up. It sends a little frisson of delight through him. You’re stronger than him, strong enough to manhandle him, but in a way, this is almost a show of submission, you allowing him to literally push you around. 

It was times like these that you wished that you wore skirts because they would make things a hell of a lot easier. Your bare ass wouldn’t be touching the morgue counter. But you’re not thinking about that as Herbert spreads your legs and steps between them, not even bothering to tease you before he crudely shoves himself inside of your aching cunt. 

The pace starts out frenzied, Herbert pounding you roughly, spreading your legs just a bit too much. You’re hungry for whatever he has to give you, eagerly arching towards him as his cock stretches you, fills you. No one else has ever made you feel this way and for a moment, before his fingers on your clit shut off your brain for a moment, you toy with the idea of claiming him for yourself.

_ (a bite mark on his neck, the bruised flesh and indents of your teeth saying one thing _

_ back off, i chose this one _

_ he’s mine) _

When you come, you bite down on his shoulder and he can feel your teeth through his shirt. It sets Herbert off, his final thrusts nearly painful and then he buries himself deep inside of you, moaning your name and clutching you tightly.

**iii**

It takes you a while to realize what the smell is.

It has been lingering on your sheets, mostly. Though sometimes you find it on your shirts before you wash them or even simply in the air in the hallway. 

When you realize what it is, you nearly burst into laughter on the spot. It’s Herbert. His soap, his deodorant, whatever he uses on himself has rubbed on and into your life. You can smell him when you try to sleep, when you’re awake. He’s everywhere. 

Which means you think about him more than you would like to. It happens at random. You could be studying at your desk and go to get a sweatshirt from the floor and then you remember that you had been wearing it the night before, when the two of you had made out on your bed and would have done more if Dan hadn’t come home. And then you would be thinking of Herbert instead of your assignment. Or you would catch a whiff of him in your car and grip the steering wheel so tightly that your hands would hurt. 

It’s annoying, honestly. You don’t like these reminders of him when you’re not seeking them out. It makes you want to track him down and have him right there. And that is not how things are done, that’s the whole point of whatever the two of you have. 

Not so oddly enough, Herbert is having the same problem. 

It didn’t take him long to realize what it is. Your shampoo is all over his pillow. Your perfume sticks to his clothes and sheets long after you’ve parted. You’re everywhere and he hates it. 

The first time he noticed, it was one of the rare times Herbert is in his bed to sleep. He gets into his bed and the smell of you is there when he turns his head on the pillow. It’s not quite like you’re right there beside him, but it feels that way. He dreams of you that night and when he wakes up at four a.m, Herbert heads towards the lab, as he normally would. But he pauses by your door for a moment and nearly goes in. 

It’s disorientating, in its own way. Herbert is used to being a solitary creature. Unlike you, who is more caught off guard because of how it makes you feel, the situation in and of itself is what gets him, at least at first. While you are used to having the residue of others around you, for various reasons, Herbert is not. It has just been Herbert for most of his life, with the only other regular smell around him being various chemicals used in the lab. It’s jolting, to say the least

It’s as if your lives are commingling, even though it’s been made clear that is not the intent on either of your ends. But this is such a small thing that it isn’t worth mentioning. So you don’t. Both of you just deal with it and deep down, it's something that both of you come to enjoy. 

**iv**

“Are you alright?”

“I thought we didn’t ask that question.”

Herbert shoots you a withering glare as he looks down at you. He’s standing next to the bed, his shirt slightly mussed up, one of the buttons undone and his usual black tie is gone. It’s currently around your wrists and tied to the headboard of his bed, your arms over your head. He’s checked your wrists twice already. Time to get the show on the road. 

The tie is the closest thing to clothing that you have on. You’re naked, legs unbound but still spread, exposing you to Herbert’s intense, almost clinical gaze. Most people would think that his expression was one of disinterest, but by now, you know him well enough to see the little signs. This excites him, you can tell with just one look. 

“Come on.” You glance over at the nightstand, what lays on top of the plastic tray that sits atop it. When you look back at him, your gaze is softer, allowing him to see behind the curtain. “I’m ready.”

In response, Herbert nods and takes the scalpel off the tray. He doesn’t pause, going right to the bed and straddling you, just as the two of you had discussed. 

It had been your idea. You wanted to be able to let go, to free fall out into nothing, but you had become greedy for control ever since That Night. Of course, there was also the issue of being able to trust someone enough to hold that metaphorical net under you because the mere thought of being totally out of control, without that someone, terrified you. And there is only one person, at the end of the day, who you trust with control over you. 

So you had watched him produce an unused scalpel that he had gotten from the hospital, watched him sterilize the tray he was going to set it on once it was opened. And then the two of you had gone up to his room. You had undressed and had laid on his bed, arms over your head so he could tie you up. 

“Just tell me when you want me to stop,” Herbert requests and then it begins. 

The dull side of the scalpel is cool on your heated flesh. You gasp and slightly squirm as Herbert runs it along your side, working his way upwards. He’s watching you, those beautiful eyes dark, intense, as he studies your reactions. When you had proposed this element, he had been surprised, but had soon realized your reasoning. It was sound, so he had agreed to it. 

As the blade draws closer to your chest, your gasp is sharper than the last and you can feel and practically hear your heart start to beat faster. But you want this, you’ve thought about it maybe more times than its healthy, and you know that he’s not going to hurt you. It’s not going to be like the last time someone was on top of you with a scalpel. 

Herbert leans downward, the blade now pressed against the underside of your breast and you think he’s going to kiss you. But instead, he murmurs “You’re doing so well,” against your mouth. 

And rather than feel that flash of anger that precedes you telling him to fuck off, you feel like you want to cry. Instead, you crane your head upwards and kiss him to smother those feelings. 

_ (the same feelings from that night in the hotel room _

_ when he had whispered Mein Herz against your chest _

_ and in that moment, you would have gladly given him anything, even your heart) _

The blade is between your breasts when his free hand goes between your legs. Herbert isn’t very surprised to feel how wet you are and he soaks up your little whines and sighs as his fingers eagerly caress you, unable to not indulge. After all, he knows that you can easily free yourself, take the scalpel from him and turn the tables. And yet, you’re under him, kept bound by a simple tie, wiggling and looking up at him with eyes almost black with desire. Even as fear flickers across your face, you still trust him, allowing him to use his weight to keep your lower half pinned. 

So of course, he sets the scalpel aside and undoes his pants, breathing heavily even before he entered you. This time, his thrusts are slow, deliberate, he ensures that you feel every fucking thing every fucking second. 

And for once, you’re able to let go and just feel everything he gives you. 

**v**

When Herbert had outfitted a table with restraints for a subject’s limbs, both you and Dan had raised an eyebrow, but for very different reasons. They were not the typical nylon restraints used at the hospital. They were leather, with soft-looking padding. The sort of cuffs that were designed with comfort in mind.

But you hadn’t said anything, figuring that things would develop at his own pace. You were in no rush to get there. Whatever or wherever there was. 

It didn’t take long for you to find that out. 

One late night in the basement, the two of you begin to argue. It’s a small thing, at least compared to the whole heart incident. But it’s enough to get the both of you in each other’s faces and then you wind up wrestling him onto that special table. It’s not what you had intended, but you had needed to keep him from doing something stupid. Not exactly harmful, just very dumb. 

And the next thing you know, you’ve got Herbert pinned against the table by his wrists. The two of you are practically nose to nose, breathing heavily. His eyes flick towards the straps, just for a moment, before he’s looking at you again. When his hips rock against yours, you can feel his growing arousal against your thigh and he quickly licks his lips, wetting that stupid, pink, perfect mouth. 

It clicks and you don’t undress him before you strap him down. First his wrists and then his ankles. After you secure every cuff, you look back up at Herbert, making sure that this is still what he wants. And with every look, there is a slight nod. 

Seeing him like that, strapped down and waiting for you, it’s intoxicating. So you just stand there for a few moments, taking it in. And when you straddle him, thankful that you’re wearing a skirt for once, you take a few more. 

Within seconds, his tie is on the floor. It takes very little effort to rip open his shirt. The buttons scatter all over the floor, making an almost merry little sound. It would be easier to rip off his undershirt, the fabric is much thinner. But your eyes land on a pair of shears that just so happen to be within arm’s reach and you can’t resist the idea that pops into your head. 

“Go ahead. Tell me to stop,” you say when you notice his disgruntled expression after you slice open his undershirt and push the halves aside to reveal his chest. There is no answer and you grin, leaning forward to tease him with a bop on the nose. “Thought so.”

You smirk down at him, your perfectly red lips quirking upwards. Herbert is seized with the urge to ruin it, make your mouth a red mess just as he has several times before. He cranes his head towards you, but he can’t quite reach your mouth, only barely grazing your lips. 

In response, you grab his cheeks, digging your fingers into his flesh, forcing his mouth open. Though you’re sure that he’s opening up on his own, just a little bit. You glare down at him as you feel him throbbing against you, see how needy his eyes are, how he’s starting to flush and squirm. 

Impulsively, you spit into his mouth. “Swallow,” you instruct him, still holding onto his face. 

When Herbert does as you ask, you moan and very intentionally grind against him, Herbert letting out soft, garbled noises of his own as he moves with you to the best of his ability. But you quickly put a stop to that, placing your hands on his hips and holding them down until he stilled. 

“You’re really no different from the average male,” you say coolly, as if you’re discussing a scientific theory or a patient. Your voice is detached, even though you’re on top of him, wet and wanting. “At least when it comes to your desires. But in some aspects, you’re worse because at least they admit it. However, you pretend to be above it all. You belittle and scoff at people who seek out physical pleasure from others. And yet…”

One of your hands leaves his hip to crudely palm him through his slacks. In response, Herbert tries and fails to repress a groan of pleasure. “Look at you now. Fucking panting for it.” As one hand reaches into his trousers and wraps around his cock, the other goes in a different direction, sliding up his torso and to his throat. But you don’t squeeze.

_ (though he would have let you _

_ Herbert feels like if he were to fall, you would catch him) _

Instead, you linger there for a few moments before your hand drifts upward. Two of your fingers slide into his mouth when he slightly opens it, his tongue gliding over the scars. You lean in and whisper “Say ‘thank you’.” as your thumb rubs the head of his cock. 

The response is slightly garbled, but he thanks you, his eyes narrowed and you’re sure that he would have on his typical scowl if it were possible for him to do so. 

Smiling, you withdraw your fingers, brush some of his hair back gently and press your lips to the scar on his left pectoral, leaving behind a perfect red lip mark. 

It’s your way of reminding him that you were there, you understand and if this is what he needs, then you’re fine with being the one to give it to him. 

So, Herbert takes it. 

**vi**

“Oh great, both of you guys are here. And you’re still up.”

Dan stumbles into your room, which is only lit by the bedside lamp. You frantically use your head to gesture to Herbert to throw a blanket over your lap, to cover up the fact that you’re wearing nothing under the oversized t-shirt that’s hiked up around the top of your thighs, nearly exposing you to those in the room. That was something you would have done yourself, but you were rather literally tied up at the moment. 

A pair of handcuffs from a store in downtown Arkham that had blacked out windows are on each wrist, securing you to the headboard. Herbert had been ready to do the same to your ankles when Dan had decided to pay you a visit without knocking. 

“You alright, Dan?” you ask, trying to make conversation that would also get him the hell out of the room as fast as possible.

“Yeah, just thinking about stuff.” Dan ambles over and sits on the end of your bed. “Come sit with us, champ.” That statement is directed at Herbert, who is still standing right next to the bed, frozen. “There’s some stuff we gotta talk about.” Dan smells like booze, which explains why it is suddenly time for a family chat. And why he doesn’t seem to notice his roommates are up to something. 

“What kind of stuff?” You ask, praying that this conversation doesn’t last long because you’re pantless and handcuffed to your bed and you had been looking forward to getting pounded into the mattress tonight. 

“Just stuff. You guys…” Dan’s words make both you and Herbert freeze and you stare at each other, certain that he’s figured it out. “I worry about you two. It’s not good that you’re always here, all alone. Both of you should be out there, meeting people. Making connections.”

“I doubt that the connections you want us to make are-.” Herbert is cut off by you purposefully coughing. 

“What I think he’s trying to say is that we’re doing okay here. And hey, we’re not alone. We’ve got each other. He’s always home, so it’s not like I’m rattling around this creepy old house all by myself” Not exactly what he means, but you just want him to go. This is not the time for a deep talk about whether or not humans had an innate need for connection. 

“That’s not what I mean, old sport,” Dan sighs. You furrow your brow at the nickname, but choose to let that one go. “It’s about being lonely, not being alone. I just want you guys to be happy. And it doesn’t even have to be together. Which I kind of thought was going to happen.”

“And why would you think that?” Herbert asks. 

Dan looks at him like Herbert is an idiot. “The two of you sleeping in the same bed. Showering together. You’re always looking at each other when the other one isn’t looking.”

Before he can continue pulling out more damning evidence, you cut him off. “Okay, okay. But getting back to your original point, we’re fine. Really.”

Well, you will be, once you get out of these handcuffs because this has killed any desire to be pounded for at least the next few days. 

“If you say so,” Dan shakes his head and finally gets off of your bed and leaves the room. There is a long silence during which neither you or Herbert can even look at each other. His fists are tightly clenched on his lap and he needs to force himself to make his face blank, so he can face you to get those cuffs off of your wrist. 

Neither of you want to admit that Dan is wrong because you have each other and ever since this thing started, neither of you are alone anymore. 

_ (not since the two of you had been wrapped around each other  _

_ lost souls finding each other  _

_ i love you i love you i love you) _

**vii**

“Francesca! It’s so good to see you!” 

You embrace her tightly, delight making your face light up. When Dan had told you there was going to be a guest for dinner, you hadn’t expected it to be her. The two of you had kept in touch over the past few months, once you had been able to send her a letter via the magazine she worked for. But it had still been a welcome surprise when you had run into her at the hospital.

Addams is up in your room, playing with some of Ghost’s cat toys. The kitten in question is downstairs, perched on top of the living room chair and observing the scene with an almost human gaze. Angel looks up at Ghost and the two of them seem to exchange looks of understanding. 

“Dan got held up at the hospital, but he called a few minutes ago and said he’ll be home soon.” You have plans to make yourself scarce as soon as Dan showed up and had already made yourself dinner, which you had just finished. 

Herbert comes up from the basement for a few moments, to get some things from the kitchen. You’re sitting at the kitchen table with Francesca, the two of you chattering away about something he doesn’t care much about. As he rifles around under the sink, the subject changes.

“So, are you seeing anyone?” Francesca asks, which is a question that Herbert is curious to hear how you’ll answer. Even though he knows what you’ll probably say, he can’t help himself. 

“No. Still need to find someone worth my time,” you reply and it is exactly what Herbert expected you to say. “I have standards.”

“And what are those standards?”

“Someone who is brilliant and passionate about their field. I think that someone like that would understand how I feel about my work. Preferably their field would be similar to mine, but that’s flexible. They have to be strong, not afraid to voice their opinions or take risks every now and then. But I don’t want to be with someone who is going to be dragging me out on the town all the time. They have to understand certain things about me.” You pause, rubbing one of the scars on your hand. “And the sex has to be great, of course.”

There is a flurry of giggles and Herbert makes his way downstairs. Before he gets back to his work, he thinks of how he fits the description of your ideal partner. 

\--

The sounds of Dan and Francesca’s passions spill out into the hallway, though it is a tad muted compared to how Dan had been with Megan. The half-open door is likely the main reason why others in the house can hear it and it is definitely why others can see them in such a private, intimate moment. 

Herbert pauses in the hallway and something starts tugging at the back of his mind. He’s irritated at their noises, just as he had been before. But something else is spreading through his body, building on his irritation. It gnaws at him, this simmering feeling that isn’t quite anger, even after he looks away. He doesn’t understand why he feels this way. 

It’s not because he’s had a taste of that and wants more.

_ (it is _

_ he can still remember how you had looked afterwards _

_ trembling, smiling, a warmth in your eyes that he hadn’t seen before or since) _

And yet, he finds himself in your room, hardly even remembering opening the door.

You had gone upstairs almost as soon as Dan had come home, not wanting to be a third wheel. It was going to be awkward enough knowing that they were having sex under the same roof. At least you have a working radio now, which helps muffle the sounds. Though you had heard them when you had gone to get something to drink from the kitchen. 

This time last year, you would have been making snide comments to yourself or maybe even to Herbert. Now, there is a weight in the pit of your stomach that seems to be growing with every passing moment.

When Herbert shows up in your bedroom, you’re trying to practice your sutures, but you can’t focus. When your eyes meet his, the reasons why you can’t focus, why everything feels different, crash to the front of your mind. 

_ (he looks so soft without his glasses _

_ as he comes down from that shared high, he looks so vulnerable and it is beautiful  _

_ the world has narrowed down to just this bed) _

“What is it, Herbert?” you ask, setting your suture practice onto the nightstand. “Something wrong.” You get up and walk over to him, noting how his tie is tucked into his shirt and wondering what he had been up tonight. 

“Yes.” He sounds nearly distressed and your stomach flips, concern storming to the forefront. 

“Is there anything I can do?”

The answer is his mouth on yours, soft and tender. Herbert’s hands tentatively come up to cup your face and you close what little of a gap there had been between your bodies. You kiss him back and it isn’t the sort of rough kiss that could almost tear a man to pieces, which have been the sort of kisses the two of you had been exchanging recently. It’s almost shy, as if this is the first kiss you have given him. 

_ (it’s the sort of kiss you give someone you love) _

More of those kisses are exchanged as the two of you awkwardly make your way over to your bed, falling onto it side by side, unable to let go of each other for very long. Nothing else mattered, once again the world has become just the bed and the other person in it.

Tonight, you take your time undressing each other, indulging in every bit revealed to each other, as if you hadn’t seen each other’s bodies dozens of times, in all sorts of contexts. Something is different, at least compared to all of the other times the two of you have found yourselves alone and wanting each other.

“I’ve missed you.” Your voice is barely louder than a whisper as the two of you intertwine skin to skin, one of your hands resting on his face. 

Of course, he hasn’t gone anywhere, but that isn’t what you mean. What’s happening now, the sweet, gentle intimacy of being in the arms of someone you care about, feeling safe despite your technical vulnerability, that’s what you’ve missed, even though it only happened once. Herbert nods in understanding, one of his hands going from your hip to your chest, his palm resting over your pounding heart as he slides into you, your bodies coming together as if it is the most natural thing on earth. 

“Mein Herz,” he whispers against your kiss swollen mouth and you nod, shuddering at the epithet he’s bestowed upon you, because it cements all of this. It isn’t just in your head, it’s mutual, this powerful, heavy thing that threatens to consume you will consume Herbert as well. And both of you are just fine with that. 

“Meus amor,” you reply, only able to call him your love in Latin, which he understands, of course. 

“Say it again.” Herbert rolls your bodies so that you’re on top of him, slowly riding him, his hands sweeping all over every inch of you that he can reach. 

“Only if you do.” You take his hand, lacing your fingers together instead of pinning him down, which you have been prone to recently. 

“Mein Herz.”

“Meus amor.”

Herbert’s free hand goes between your legs and when you come, he’s not far behind. You’re watching each other’s faces and that realization hits you both again. 

_ (oh that’s what this is all about, this is what all the fuss is over. _

_ i love you) _

You collapse on top of him, breathing heavily. When you roll off him, Herbert immediately pulls you to his side, your body nestled against him, the two of you fitting together perfectly. 

_ (it feels like you’ve been made for each other) _

“Stay,” you request, even though he’s made no moves to leave. 

Herbert does. And eventually, the two of you fall asleep. 

\--

_ The much too bright morgue smells of death and fresh blood, thick and metallic. Rotting hands hold Herbert down on the lab table and there is a headless body holding the laser drill to his head.  _

_ Hill is going to take his brain and there is nothing he can do.  _

_ Trapped by Hill’s creations, Herbert has been reduced to begging to keep his brain, to remain himself. But his pleas fall on deaf ears and there is no one here to help him. He’s alone and that’s how he’s going to die. Even if his body remains, without his brain, he might as well be dead.  _

Herbert wakes up with a start. He’s gasping, shaking violently as his mind catches up with his body. The darkness of the room he’s in confuses him for a moment and he quickly realizes where he is, who he is with. You’re right there next to him, taking him into your arms and stroking his hair. 

You’re murmuring in his ear as he trembles, unable to hide that he’s been emotionally affected by the nightmare, that he had actually been scared. Herbert has been able to hide just how much this has affected him for nearly a year, even from himself. He hates feeling this helpless, even when he’s alone. 

But you’re right here, holding him, telling him that he’s going to be alright, that you’re here for him. 

It makes him feel weak, disgusted with himself for allowing himself to be exposed like this. 

So Herbert yanks himself away from you, hurriedly pulling on his clothes just enough for him to leave the room looking somewhat decent. He leaves you there, staring at where he had been, feeling more hurt and confused than you ever had in your life.


	8. everything i want to say, i swallow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yearning, pining, whatever it can be called, it happens. Along with an experiment gone wrong and a visit from a certain cop.

**i**

_And I find it kind of funny I find it kind of sad The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had_

Tears For Fears is playing on the living room stereo and you are sitting on the floor with Dan, several bottles of alcohol on the coffee table in front of you. It’s a Saturday night and the two of you brought out all the booze in the house to cope with being lonely. Francesca left for her latest assignment a few days ago, so Dan’s been moping around. And you’ve been feeling on the melancholy side lately. Everything had fallen together easily within minutes and now the two of you are working on destroying the sadness and maybe your livers as a mix tape plays. Herbert is in the lab, of course, and neither of you had even considered inviting him to this micro-party.

“I hope that we can work things out. It’s really fucking great when we’re together, but I don’t know if I can take us being apart so much. But I want to at least try because Francesca is so…great.” Dan sounds sad, but a little hopeful. “She’s the only person since…” He trails off and stares down at the carpet as his mind wanders to what could have been. Who could have been.

“Meg would have wanted you to be happy. She loved you so much that it made me feel a little sick.” You sigh and take another shot of tequila, slumping against the couch. You’ve been steadily working your way through the Jose Cuervo and Captain Morgan, while Dan is still on his first drink. He’s pretty much sober and you’re soused.

“I loved her too. We would have made it.” Dan is sure of this and so are you. The two of them had been ridiculously happy. You remember making fun of them with Herbert and you quickly down another shot to drown what thinking about that had dredged up.

_(his weight on top of you_

_the way you had moaned his name_

_how he had faintly whined as he pressed against you for that brief moment)_

Your eyes still burn, and your hands are shaking just enough to keep you from pouring yourself more booze. “I used to make fun of you guys. And I’m so fucking sorry.”

Dan has no idea what to say. While you had always been friendly in person and it hadn’t really hurt anyone, you had mocked him and Meg behind their backs. Though to who, you weren’t saying, and he wasn’t going to ask. “Why?” he asks, taking a long swig of rum and coke.

“Well, it started because you guys were really loud sometimes. But maybe, in hindsight, I was jealous.” You still aren’t sure what the hell you had been feeling back then, but jealousy had been a part of it. After all, they had things you seem to be unable to obtain. They had been so comfortable with each other, happy together and of course, they had excellent physical chemistry. You’d never had that.

_(at least not back then)_

Tequila and rum mixed in a mug do not help your aching insides and you wind up on your stomach on the floor, rambling as Ghost curls up on your back. “Do you think some people are just innately unable to love or be loved?” You turn your face slightly so you can face Dan. Or more accurately, his side. “It’s just…I can’t seem to make it happen. Whenever I’ve put myself out there, it just backfires.”

When you had been woken up by Herbert having a nightmare, you had felt this instinctive need to comfort him, despite both of you having said that whatever had been going on wasn’t like that. Although after whatever the hell had happened mere hours before, after falling asleep in his arms, you had felt that desire to take care of him when you could have pretended to be asleep. But you hadn’t taken the easy way out.

In return, Herbert had coldly rejected your attempt at comfort and then you. He had practically shoved you away from him and had left without a word. The next morning, he had refused to even look at you. It had taken over a week for him to speak to you. It was clear that whatever had been happening was now over and it was because you had tried. It had hurt more than finding out the man you had actually dated, albeit casually, had been a mole for Hill. You hated yourself for being so stupid, allowing yourself to be vulnerable.

Afterwards, you had laid in bed for hours, wondering if there was something innately wrong with you that was the reason people never seemed to stay.

“You’re fucking lucky Dan. It’s happened for you twice.” Maybe you had consumed a little too much alcohol, because you can’t stop yourself from yammering. “And I want to know what it’s like to have someone reciprocate. To feel it and have someone feel it for me. That’s all I want.” Before that night in Peru, you had never thought about it that much. But now, you worry that it will never happen for you. Not after you’d become damaged goods. “To have someone say, ‘love me and mend’.” After all, you planned to spend your life mending others and it would be nice to know that you could count on someone to mend you in return.

“It’s just…I realized that I’m all alone in the world, kind of. No family. No one to call my own. And that’s a lot to deal with. Mentally.”

“Did something happen? Or is this about Pierce?” Dan asks, frowning as he takes another slug of his drink.

“Doesn’t matter.” You sigh heavily. “It’s just this bullshit thing. I thought it was more than it was and that’s on me. I’m fine, really.”

After everything that had happened in the past ten months, it had seemed natural to assume a few things. Even before that first kiss in the old basement, you had gone farther for him than anyone else and been willing to go beyond that. You had felt horrified, frantic, sick at the thought of losing him and as his blood had washed over your hands in that tent, you had realized something that had scared you so much you had forced yourself to forget it.

That you did love him, even though until that moment, you hadn’t really thought yourself capable of it.

Neither you or Dan notice that Herbert had come up from the basement and he had been listening. He takes care to not be noticed as he creeps back downstairs, trying to push your words out of his mind.

_(along with the echo of your voice saying ‘meus amor’)_

**ii**

It’s been a long day and you’re ready to be done with it. 

You’ve been up for over 36 hours and had hardly eaten for the last 24, only consuming enough to keep from being light-headed. That cop, Chapham, had tried to talk to you during your all too brief lunch break, sidling up too close for comfort and you were sure that he had tried to get a peek down your scrub top. He’d apparently tried to scare Francesca too, when she had been in Arkham.

All you want is to not have to think about that night for at least two consecutive days. Not exactly feasible, but you can dream.

After you get out of the shower and are heading for your room, you hear voices downstairs. It’s easy for you to find a place by the stairs to listen without being seen.

Chapham is here and apparently, he’s got questions. You don’t know what he’s expecting to hear. The three of you have been very good about sticking to your stories. People believe you and Dan; they even believe Herbert.

It doesn’t take you long to come up with a plan and even less time to execute it.

“And I suppose you don't know anything about the missing body parts at the hospital?” Chapham asks Herbert, the three men caught too caught up in their conversation to even notice you walking into the living room.

“Is there a problem, Lieutenant?” You ask, letting your presence be known.

“Just came to ask some questions, Miss-.” Chapham turned to face you and cut himself off as his eyes wandered away from your face and to the rest of you. Rather than pull on sweatpants and a t-shirt, you had come down in a short satin robe, your hair loose rather than wrapped in a towel. The robe isn’t tightly wrapped around your body, the loose fit allowing peeks of what’s underneath. The way Chapham is looking at you is exactly the reaction you wanted to get out of him, but it still makes your skin crawl. It’s hungry, but in an ugly, predatory sort of way. In any other context, you would be running in the opposite direction as fast as you could.

“About what? Did something happen?” You’re all wide-eyed, playing dumb for your audience of one. Even your voice is different, somewhat girlish and sugary, adding onto the role you’re playing. Chapham doesn’t notice what you’re doing, his eyes busy trying to get a peek into your robe, even as he talks. Apparently even scarred tits will do for some men.

“Just doing some routine questioning,” Chapham says, still not looking at your face.

“Oh, is that it?” You ask, twirling a lock of damp hair around your finger. “Well, it is getting rather late. And we don’t know anything about what’s been going on at the hospital. We’re just trying to do our best, get adjusted to life back here. You know we were in Peru for most of this year, serving as combat medics?” 

“I can’t imagine a pretty thing like you in a war zone.” Chapham doesn’t even seem to notice that Dan and Herbert are still in the room. Dan looks nauseous even before you giggle in a way that doesn’t even sound like it could have come from you. Herbert keeps his face carefully blank, not betraying a single emotion or thought. 

“You’re too kind. Let me walk you out,” you say, your voice still sickly sweet and Chapham agrees, much to the relief of everyone in the house.

When you return to the other two, there is an awkward silence as all of you stare at each other for a few moments. Dan just throws up his hands and heads for the kitchen. He has no idea how to deal with this, he doesn’t need to, so he’s not going to do a damn thing.

“You’re welcome!” You sarcastically call out to Dan. “It was fun! Something I plan to never do again.”

Herbert finds himself staring at you, even though he should be better than that. He’s a man of science and he knows what’s under that robe. It’s nothing new. You’re nothing new. And yet, he found himself unable to look away.

“What?” You ask, turning towards him.

“That…outfit makes you look like a harlot.”

“You like it.” That is followed by the robe slipping down your shoulder a bit, Herbert’s eyes going to the newly exposed flesh.

And you just smirk before heading back upstairs, feeling a sick glee over having this power over Herbert even though whatever the two of you had been doing had stopped.

**iii**

The whirr of the drill is nearly drowned out by the sound of screaming coming from the reanimated man, the howls of anguish slowly beginning to decrease in volume the farther the drill goes into his skull. Blood sprays everywhere, hot and wet, as if someone had thrown an open can of paint into the air. Though the basement is already splattered with blood from earlier events, particularly when you had used the weed whacker to get the man in a position that would allow Herbert to drill into his skull and end him at last.

Herbert had been able to obtain a full corpse, taking a rare chance that the universe had offered him. Of course, things had gone poorly, and the reanimated man had gone on a rampage. You had come down from your room to get a snack from the kitchen and had been greeted with the sounds of a fight. So, you had gone downstairs without a second thought, grabbing a baseball bat on your way.

When you had gotten down there, the creature had Herbert in his grasp and had just begun to bite his face. You had brought the bat down on his head, getting him off your roommate, though that had meant attention was now on you.

The bat had stopped being useful quickly and you had been thrown into a table full of stuff. Sheer adrenaline had kept both you and Herbert on your feet and able to fight, despite the wounds both of you had sustained in the chaos. Even now, as the man finally slumps to the floor, still and no longer a threat, both of you are still buzzing, limbs shaking, hearts racing, every sense feels heightened.

The downstairs bathroom has a fully stocked first aid kit and a very bright light, specifically for incidents such as this one. You direct Herbert to sit down on the plastic seat kept in the room for this very purpose, pushing him a moment later, not having the time or patience to deal with having to argue with him to accept some damn medical care. You quickly wash your hands and put on gloves, just as you had learned to do, slipping into doctor mode.

“Goddammit, where is the source of the bleeding?” You mutter, grabbing his face, your heart somehow pounding even faster as you frantically trying to look for the source and recall what you’ve learned about this sort of thing. Herbert’s face was covered in blood that was both his and not, which made it harder than it normally would have been to find the wound. When you finally find it, you feel another slight surge of adrenaline. “There it is,” you breathe in relief, the emotion obvious even with three simple words.

You manage to wipe just enough blood from the area to be able to firmly press some gauze to the wound to stop the bleeding with one hand while you use the wipes in the first aid kit to clean the area around your mouth, not wanting to accidentally swallow any reanimated blood.

Once the bleeding has stopped and the wound has been cleaned, along with most of his face, it’s time to actually treat it, which you idly narrate the entire time, not even realizing it. You gently take his jaw in one hand, holding onto his face as you apply ointment with the other hand, only letting go for the brief moment that you need to get a bandage. The whole time, Herbert is just staring at you, and you can’t name the look in his eyes, but it’s both affectionate and a tad terrifying.

“Take off your shirt.,” you order, still holding his gaze. “Nasty bastards got a few hits in, figured I’d check you out.” Herbert nods and unbuttons his shirt, but once he’s done with that, you step forward to remove his undershirt, gently pulling it over his head.

Aside from some mild lacerations that don’t even require dressing, Herbert is fine, though it’s clear he’s going to be heavily bruised.

When you step back to inspect your work, Herbert grabs your wrist, keeping you close to him as he rises to his feet.

“You were thrown into a table. I need to examine you,” he says, his voice blandly professional as ever, as if you were just another patient at the hospital.

Though this isn’t a very professional exam, even setting aside the fact that he doesn’t have a shirt on. You’re on your back on the bathroom floor, the only thing between you and the tile being a towel, your knees bent. Herbert gets between your spread legs and slowly slides his hands up your thighs. You go to remove your sweatshirt, but Herbert grabs your wrists, both of them this time, and pushes them down, silently informing you that he was in charge now.

The way his hands move over your body as he checks your injuries, how he looks at you as he assesses the damage, how he’s so close, much closer than he needs to be, none of that is very professional. You’re not wearing a bra, and while he doesn’t touch you, his gaze lingers and for those moments that it does, he looks almost hungry.

“If this had been the slightest bit deeper, you would have needed stitches,” Herbert comments as he treats a rather nasty gash across your abdomen.

“Aren’t I the lucky one?” You comment dryly. “Well, at least it couldn’t go as badly as when I needed to stitch you up.”

“That went rather well. You did an exceptional job.” Herbert frowns, looking down at the neat scar across his abdomen, his ever-present reminder of his time in Peru and what you had done for him.

“I basically fingered your open wound.” If this were anyone else, you would be wondering if he had forgotten. But this is Herbert West and he does not simply forget such things.

“What did that feel like?” Herbert presses against you, though you hardly notice, your mind focused on coming up with an answer.

“Warm. I could feel something wet and warm even through the gloves. I could also feel the motions of your breathing, how your abdomen moved with that. You were pulsing too, one could say. It was like I could feel just how alive you were, how fast your heart was beating. It was unlike anything I had ever felt before. I could feel…you.”

Only when you finish speaking do you realize that he’s hard and he’s pressing against your thigh. Herbert is fraying at the edges; you can see it on his face as he rocks against you for a few moments, unable to help himself as all of it came rushing back.

_(his blood is smeared around your mouth, his blood has soaked your clothes_

_you're looking at him, your fingers are inside of him_

_he trusts you with everything, with his life)_

Herbert’s eyes fall on your abdomen, on the dressing he just applied, and he’s reminded that this isn’t the first time you had stayed in a dangerous situation to try and help him. That night in the morgue, you had stayed behind when Dan and Megan had left, tried to help him despite how futile it had seemed at the time.

The memory of seeing you on the floor, looking so small and helpless, screaming and trying to fight off your attacker, even though you had already been seriously wounded, sometimes came to him in his dreams

Today had been a different story. You had been able to successfully fight back, before and after the subject had thrown you into a table. The weed whacker had become a weapon on your hands, you had brought the monster to its knees.

He doesn’t understand why you keep staying.

“You’re a senseless fool,” Herbert mutters as his fingers brush over the dressing. “It’s lucky that you look good in red.” His meaning is clear, despite the ambiguous tone of his voice.

In response, you reach up and rest a hand on his face, a ghost of a smile on your face. For what could have been a moment or several minutes, the two of you just stare at each other, minds racing

_(I miss you, I’m sorry, I need you_

_everything felt right in each other’s arms_

_the world feels different now that you’ve sampled that taste of what everyone else seems to have so easily but has always been denied to both of you_

_until you found each other)_

A moment after your hand drops from Herbert’s face, the bathroom door opens. The sight of the two of you half naked, Herbert settled between your open legs, looming over you, both of you covered in blood, which is also all over the bathroom, should inspire more than resigned chagrin in Dan. He merely sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“What happened this time?” he asks, and Dan realizes how much he sounds like his father right now.

**iv**

It’s the Saturday before Halloween. Rather than go to any of the pre-Halloween parties, you’re spending the evening at home. There’s a Universal horror movie marathon on TV and some popcorn with your name on it. It’s going to be an ideal Saturday night. You’ve spent all day studying, working your ass off, just as you had been doing all week, so you’ve earned a night off.

As you’re settling onto the couch, Herbert comes up from the basement. It’s one of those nights where he has hit a wall and knows that it will be fruitless to continue to toil in the lab. His intentions are to go up to his room and read, try to find a solution somewhere in all of his books and notes.

But then he sees you in the living room, clearly getting comfortable. There’s a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table and you’ve made a nest with one of your blankets.

You catch him staring and just before _The Mummy_ begins, you speak. “Either sit down or go.” It wouldn’t be easy to enjoy the movie if he were hovering nearby, just watching you.

To your surprise, Herbert joins you on the couch. There is a somewhat respectable distance between the two of you, barely enough room for another person. You don’t invite him into the nest, which you might have done if things had been different. If this had happened before that night.

For the most part, you’re over that. Or that’s what you tell yourself. It doesn’t hurt anymore, and you know that it’s your fault, for thinking that it was more than it was. But sometimes, you feel that tug deep in your gut, that feeling that makes you think of what might have been.

Herbert sneaks glances at you every now and then. He doesn’t know why he chose to sit down instead of going upstairs, his original destination. This isn’t a cozy little scene out of one of those sappy films that Dan occasionally watches and even if it was, he wouldn’t care. He wouldn’t get under that blanket with you and sling his arm over your shoulders, even if things were different.

But a small part of him does enjoy this, the comfortable silence, your presence, even the film itself.

Halfway through the movie, Dan comes downstairs to get something to eat and saw the two of you on the couch. The has started to close, though Herbert isn’t anywhere near getting into the blanket nest. But your hands are close to being able to touch, resting on the couch with the bowl of popcorn between you. A twitch of your fingers would cause them to brush with his, or vice-versa.

“Hey, mind if I join you?” Dan asks cheerfully during a commercial break, causing both of you to jump a little at the sudden sound of his voice. He sits on the end of the couch, causing Herbert to scoot closer to you just to get away from Dan’s body crowding him. Whatever had been starting to form in the air, that feeling that had allowed the two of you to start closing that gap, it’s gone.

Herbert glares at Dan, knowing exactly what Dan had intended to do. The grin on Dan’s face is a dead giveaway. You’re staring at the TV, seemingly focused on the movie. But the way your jaw is clenched and how tense your body language is makes it clear how you feel about all of this.

It’s a game and no one knows the rules, so they need to be made up along the way.

Your arm winds up slung across the back of the couch and then it comes down a bit, your hand in Herbert’s hair. Your fingers idly begin to move, as if you’re petting him. Herbert leans into your touch ever so slightly, forcing himself to keep his eyes open and on Dan as his hand went to rest on your knee.

Dan’s bluff has been called and then the two of you went a step beyond. It’s a very short game of chicken.

When it’s just the two of you again, you turn to Herbert, your hand still in his hair. “There’s not enough popcorn for three people,” you whisper, looking into his eyes, daring him to point out that since he hasn’t had any, there was plenty to share with Dan.

“Of course.” His hand is still on your knee for a little while longer before he slowly pulls away as you do the same, your hands once more being kept to yourselves.

But the gap closes until there’s barely any space between the two you. And when you touch accidentally, little unintentional brushes, no one complains.

**v**

Halloween night, after the three of you get back from Miskatonic, you and Dan go up to your respective rooms to get ready for a Halloween party being held at the home of a classmate. Herbert goes down to the basement, where he stays along after the two of you have left. He comes up hours later to get some papers from his room just as you arrive home.

During the week, ever since that night on the couch, the two of you have been trying to act like it didn’t happen, like everything was normal. Like the moment you two had shared hadn’t been loaded with meaning, that both of you were starting to crack, just like before.

“The party was boring. So, I decided to come home.” You force yourself to sound casual, but that’s not easy when Herbert is staring at you with eyes that could bore a hole through a steel door in seconds. His eyes are dark with desire and he steps closer, his gaze laser focused on you the whole time.

“You look…” Herbert’s voice is thick as he steps closer. Your mouth is a dark red, the color of drying blood. Your hair isn’t piled on top of your head, it’s loose around your shoulders, but the fake stitches on your face and neck, the white dress and bandages wrapped around your arms make it clear who you’re supposed to be. The Monster’s Mate.

“How do I look?” You step forward as well. Eventually, the two of you are practically pressed together.

“Like the perfect creation.” Herbert ran a finger along the scar on your throat. “Though if I had been the doctor, I would have wanted to keep you for myself. Not given you to a lumbering brute.”

“She dies at the end, though,” you whisper, your thumb brushing over the scar on his forehead.

“You wouldn’t.” He wouldn’t let you, but he doubts that he would need to intervene. You’re a survivor, just like him. The two of you would be able to escape that crumbling tower and into the night, vanishing together.

His thumb runs over your lower lip, lingering on the scar, his gaze questioning. You nod without a moment of hesitation.

It’s greedy, full of an aching need. The two of you cling to each other, hands all over each other’s bodies within moments. The only thing that can satisfy the monster inside both of you is each other. His mouth on yours, your body pressed against his. The two you wind up against the nearest wall, your legs around his waist as he pushes up the skirt of your dress. He wants you to keep it on, so it stays on, even though it makes getting access to you a little more difficult.

From the first thrust, it’s rough, frenzied. Herbert’s hands grip your waist tightly and he’s breathing heavily, forehead against yours. You’re moaning, wiggling, your voice full of need as you beg for him, for more. 

One of your hands slide between your bodies, into his shirt, your fingers dancing over the scar on his abdomen and the teasing smile he sees on your face tells Herbert that you’re thinking of that moment on the bathroom floor, how he had become excited at the memories of the night he’d gotten that scar. You know his darkest secrets and he knows yours. And yet, it doesn’t feel like a threat, not in the slightest. 


	9. how long can you keep wanting something and not ask for it?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Events from the past are revealed. As the future rears its head, Herbert feels threatened. And finally, the scene that everyone saw coming happens.

**i**

_It’s morning and yet it feels like the three of you were down in the basement for hours and mere minutes at the same time. You stumble out of there after Dan and Meg, eager to finally get out of there, away from Herbert’s sick work._

_When he had informed you and Dan of what he was doing down there, what he had managed to hide from you for months, you had let out a cry of pure disgust and horror, recoiling from the sight. The first thing out of your mouth had been ‘you’re sick’ as you had stared at Herbert, your eyes wide. He had glared at you, the last time he had even looked at you while the three of you were down there. Every word out of his mouth had been directed at Dan, as if you weren’t there._

_“When West’s professor, Dr. Gruber, in Switzerland died, well, for hours afterwards, West did things to the body. The police had to tear him away. He was in psychiatric observation for months.” Meg sounds frantic as she informs Dan, and you by extension since you’re lurking in the hallway nearby, leaning against the wall, pinching the bridge of your nose as you try and process everything_

_“I tried to save him.” Herbert nearly knocks you over as he rushes to defend himself. You’re silent as you watch the exchange, carefully observing, waiting until the two of you were alone to speak._

_“Did you really?”_

_Herbert whirls on you, as if he had forgotten you exist until this very moment. “Excuse me?”_

_“Did you really try and save him? Dr. Gruber.” Your voice is softer than usual, and you hold his gaze, unflinching and strong. It’s a glimpse of the steel within you._

_“Yes.” The single word is harsh, practically spat out of his mouth as he looks into your eyes._

_The two of you See each other for a few moments that go on forever. You come away knowing that he’s telling the truth. And that knowledge informs your actions during the chaos that soon comes._

**ii**

There is a slight twitch of your hands as you close up the cadaver that the three of you have been working on, likely an involuntary jolt of some sort. But Herbert still reaches across the table once you’re done and grasps your wrists to ostensibly steady them, as he had done more than once in the months following the massacre. 

Though he had never loosened his grip so his fingers could idly start tracing up your wrists. Dan swore that both of you began to lean in before he coughed. 

“This is a place of medicine,” he reminds the two of you that the three of you are supposed to be finishing up your pathology rotation work. Both of you pull back and Herbert fiddles with his glasses as you turn away and begin to take care of cleaning up. 

At first, the mere idea of the two of you together had grossed Dan out. Before Meg had started to truly despise Herbert, she had made a comment about how maybe the two of you should date. Dan had laughed, unable to see it happening. The two of you would kill each other, he had told her, and Meg had laughed as well and soon, the two of them had been focused on something else entirely. 

When you had come back to the house after Herbert had dispatched Hill, carrying cleaning supplies and determined to help Herbert get away with murder, Dan had felt that unique brand of exasperated dread that he had only begun to feel after meeting Herbert. 

After the massacre, Dan had been against the idea because he was worried that it would end in tragedy, that Herbert would use you for his own weird ends and then discard you when you weren’t useful. Or you would wind up like Meg. Another young woman dead long before her time, remembered only as a tragic figure, not as a person. So, when he had walked in on one of those joint showers, he had almost freaked out on the spot, before it had been explained that what was happening was platonic and practical. 

It hadn’t been until Peru that Dan had changed his mind.

One night, a week or so after arriving, he had come to get a snack and had found the two of you sitting on the living room floor, Herbert braiding your hair with the ease of a man who had done so many times. 

Another time, he had seen Herbert allow you to take his glasses and clean them after they had been dirtied during a hectic day, even letting you put them back on his face. 

Little moments that showed potential for more kept happening, even before Herbert had announced that he had been working on a formula to repair the damage done to your hands. Not that he planned to do so, but that it was already underway. You had just stared at him for a long time and Herbert had stared back and Dan had felt like his whole existence had been forgotten. 

By then, Dan had realized that the two of you bring out a side of each other that no one else can quite manage. That the two of you could make each other happy, if you would let yourselves.

That night, Dan eats his dinner and watches the two of you awkwardly dance around each other in the kitchen as you make yourself dinner and Herbert pretends to have a reason to be upstairs. 

He wonders how long it’s going to take for the two of you to get over yourselves. 

**iii**

It had begun with you asking Herbert if he had slept recently. His lack of an answer had said more than words ever could and you had rolled your eyes, muttering about how he was a train wreck of a man.

That had been this morning. Now, over twelve hours later, the two of you were alone in the house and Herbert’s wrists were bound, rope anchoring him to the headboard of his own bed. You had managed to coax him in there without much difficulty and had laid on top of him, kissing him slowly as you had removed his shirt. As you had straddled him, your mouth kiss-swollen and eyes dark with desire, the rope in your hands, you had asked him to let you take care of him.

All he had been able to do was nod, a lump having suddenly formed in his throat.

Now, you were kissing down his chest, running your hands along his torso, gently caressing him. “For someone who wants to be a doctor, you are shit at taking care of yourself,” you murmur before your teeth gently scrape over a nipple. Your lips move upwards and press against the skin covering his pounding heart, lingering for a few moments. “Lucky for you, I’m here.” To do what goes unsaid, it’s left up to Herbert to fill in the blanks.

But instead, his mind flashes back to that night. To when Hill had taken control away from Herbert, making him feel small and helpless as the older man had voiced his plans for Herbert’s work. After Hill had said Dan would disappear, Herbert had been able to find his voice and ask about what would be done with you.

Hill’s first idea had been for you to disappear as well. But then maybe he had seen something in Herbert’s eyes, or the idea had come to him on its own. Because within a moment, he had come up with another, some would say worse, plan.

You would become something to motivate and reward Herbert’s loyalty and hard work, as well as keep him in line. When Herbert had pointed out that you would never agree, Hill had agreed, calling you a willful little thing, but he had a way to guarantee your compliance. His laser drill would ensure that you would be a pretty little doll for Herbert to play with when he was allowed to leave the lab.

The idea had made him feel sick, though Herbert had been able to hide his near violent disgust. When Dan had accused him of being as sick as Hill, Herbert had been able to laugh and say ‘oh, I don’t think so’ partially because of that. At least he would never want to chip away at someone until they were barely sentient and then use them for his own desires.

It hadn’t been until later, when he had been forced to lay in the hospital bed and had pretended to sleep, that he had imagined what that would be like. And sometimes, he’s haunted by that, the nightmarish images occasionally creeping into the rare dreams he had. 

_(you’re calm and docile, but also empty. when you speak, it’s toneless, monosyllabic. your life is centered around him, you just wait for him to return. in bed, you’re silent, staring blankly at him, only moving from the force of his thrusts. your skin is soft, smooth, perfect, but it’s also cold. there is more life in the reanimated beings)_

There wouldn’t be that glint in your eyes as you kiss down his chest, you wouldn’t be murmuring things that he can’t quite make out until he forces his mind to clear, silencing the dull roar in his head. Your hands are warm, and he can feel the slight roughness of your skin and the texture from the scars with every motion you make.

When your tongue swipes over the scar on his abdomen, Herbert moans and arches his back, wishing he could thread his fingers through your hair. Despite his earlier thoughts, he’s starting to become aroused, his trousers beginning to feel rather constricting as your mouth travels lower, your body settling between his legs.

“If you keep being a fucking idiot, you’re going to burn out sooner rather than later.” You’re resting your chin just below his navel as you gaze up at him.

“I didn’t think you cared so much,” Herbert says dryly.

“The only reason it seems like I care is because when you crash and burn, it’ll be me who has to clean up the mess. Trust me, what appears to be concern is actually very self-centered.” You roll your eyes and begin to undo his belt, as if you’re doing him some huge favor.

“Now that sounds more like you.” The second part to his comeback is cut off when you pull off his trousers and underwear in one go, yanking them to near his knees before you come back up and begin to lay kisses along his thighs, teasing at getting near his erect shaft, but never touching him there before you continue your journey downwards.

Every kiss is slow, purposeful and sometimes he catches you looking up at him with an expression that he tells himself he can’t quite read because he’s afraid acknowledging what it is will unlock doors he doesn’t even want to know exist.

Once he’s fully undressed, you sit up and run your hands all over his body, gently massaging seemingly random areas as you gaze down at him, still fully dressed. Herbert’s hands try to move forward despite themselves and you notice, smirking wickedly.

“If you keep misbehaving, I may just pack it in for the night. Let you deal with this…” You run your fingers along his erection teasingly, inducing a full body shudder. “Might not even untie you before I go.”

“Bitch.” But there is no malice in his words.

“You love it.” You lean forward and playfully nip at his neck before you begin to kiss down his body once again.

The realization that he does hits Herbert rather suddenly. You’re a bitch, but every acerbic comment confirms that this is you, not some doll that had parts of her brain burned away. And you’re more than that. So much more.

“I-“ Once again, he is interrupted, but this time by your tongue swirling around the tip of his cock. Herbert looks at you and your gaze seems to challenge him to finish his sentence.

Which is a correct assumption. You want to hear what he was going to say, if he was going to say is the same as what had been on the tip of your tongue ever since you had started unbuttoning his shirt. It seemed fitting that he would be the one to say it first the second time those words were exchanged.

_(his hands are on your face, every cell in your body seems to be singing with pleasure, emotions that you believed to be a myth are threatening to suffocate you from the inside out, you’re about to cry and you can’t speak unless you say those words._

_so you do_

_‘i love you’)_

But no one says it this time. 

The next sound is Herbert groaning in pleasure as your lips wrap around him and you take more and more of him into your mouth, your hands all over his thighs, massaging and squeezing until he grabs your hand and holds onto it until he comes down your throat, groaning your name.

**iv**

When the guys come up from the basement, you’re in the living room, practicing your sutures as you watch a movie, some textbooks and a brochure on the coffee table in front of you. Dan flops on the couch and picks up the brochure, Herbert hovering nearby, as if he’s going to head upstairs any moment, instead of eventually sitting on the chair for a contrived reason. 

“Seattle Grace Hospital Surgical Residency Program,” Dan reads out loud. “Did you apply there, Y/N?”

“Yeah. Dr. Gillespie said that she thinks I have a real shot at it. Figured that it couldn’t hurt to look.” You shrug. “I don’t know if I’ll get it, but at least someone thinks I can.” You had almost forgotten about applying there, but Gillespie had come up to you and handed you the brochure, along with some other information on Seattle Grace, as interview season was nigh and you were going to hear from the places you had applied to soon. “I should be hearing from them soon.”

Miskatonic was a guarantee when it came to residency. Herbert had decided to stay here, and Dan hadn’t officially accepted it, but he was going to. And you were likely going to do the same as your roommates. But someone had thought you were good enough for one of the best programs in the country and yeah, it was a long shot, but you might as well take it. 

“Seattle Grace has a single digit acceptance rate,” Herbert comments, his tone bland. 

“I am aware of that. But it’s worth a shot.” You shrug, going back to work on your sutures.

Herbert doesn’t say anything more and turns to go up to his room, as if he’s bored with the conversation. But even as he sits at his desk and reviews his notes, the thoughts won’t go away. 

It is very possible you will get into Seattle Grace. If you get an offer, then you would accept it and then you would move there, 3000 miles away. You would be gone from his life for good. 

The feeling that settles in the pit of his stomach at the thought is like a smoldering weight that had been forced down his throat. Not a fire, but something hot that nips at his innards. The thought of you leaving is unsettling, as much as he is loath to admit it. 

It’s illogical for him to feel this way. The two of you are just friends. The sex is just something that the two of you indulge in every now and then, a mere pastime. Your unique value is limited to your hands, as they are the greatest example of his work, one of his few true successes and something that he knows could get him great acclaim. He needs you around for that, so he can monitor his work. 

At least, that’s what Herbert tells himself as he sits at his desk, trying to work through these thoughts suddenly invading his head. It’s not about your laugh, your passion, those moments of tenderness, your refusal to break no matter how bad things get, your intelligence, how he feels special when you look at him, how everything feel possible when he’s with you. 

It’s not about any of that at all.

\--

“Well, there are cons. Like, having to move across the country.” 

The three of you are in the kitchen one evening after getting home from the hospital. It’s a rare moment where all three of you are eating, though Herbert is taking his sweet time with a bowl of canned soup while you and Dan eat large plates of pasta and meat sauce. 

“Moving across town was a pain. I can’t imagine going across the country.” Dan sounds sympathetic even though it isn’t even happening. Yet. 

“At least I don’t have a lot of stuff. Though I’m not sure how I’ll get Ghost there. She doesn’t seem like she would like to be on a plane and driving would take days.” You sigh and look down at the kitten, who is curled up at your feet. 

“You can’t take my cat.” The words just come out of Herbert’s mouth. You drop your fork and just stare at him, needing a few moments to process what he’d said. 

“Your cat? Your cat?” Your voice becomes a bit higher from the sheer indignation coursing through you. “When the fuck did she become your cat?”

“I found her.” Which was true, though he hadn’t exactly been thinking of keeping the little creature when he had found her cowering in the basement, looking more like a pile of pulled apart cotton balls than a kitten. 

“You are seriously not pulling finders-keepers on a living creature!”

“Ghost is the house cat. You cannot make a unilateral decision to take her across the country.”

“No one is going anywhere. And if I were to take Ghost, you would still have Addams!”

“So you only want the aesthetically pleasing pet?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Herbert! What the fuck is your problem?”

“My problem is that you’re going to take the cat and move across the country without consulting any of us.”

“I’m not going to do anything but go to an interview! You’re…you’re fucking impossible!”

You storm out of the kitchen and head upstairs, slamming the door to your room. There is a long silence downstairs before Dan gets up to wash his dish. 

“You don’t give a shit about the cat.” Dan glances at Herbert, who is glaring down at the bowl of soup, as if it’s the one that wronged him. 

“It’s the principle of the matter, Dan.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Of course I am.”

Dan sighs and sets the dish on the drying rack. “If you have something to tell her, just do it. We all know that we’re not guaranteed a tomorrow.”

“What are you babbling about?” Herbert gets up from the table and glares at Dan, who is impassive in response.

“I think you know.”

Of course, Herbert does. But denial is much easier and he doesn’t respond, instead choosing to abandon his soup and lock himself in the basement for the next twelve hours.

**v**

“Motherfucker!”

As you swing the chainsaw for the final time, you scream, wordless and full of rage, everything you had been keeping pent up inside coming out as you bifurcate the being before you. It howls as it dies again, falling to the floor with a sick thump. You can faintly hear Herbert taking care of the other one, this one is quieter, though it makes a hellish rattle as it convulses on the floor. And then, silence.

Breathing heavily, you slowly set down the chainsaw. Your entire body is vibrating, your heart is racing madly in your chest, you can feel it thwacking against your bones and there is this wild energy tingling through every cell. When you meet Herbert’s gaze, whatever passes between the two of you is nearly tangible, so you look away.

The basement is a bloodbath, some parts of it looking like someone just threw a bucket of paint with wild abandon. Both of you are covered in it, some of it your own. Your hair is drenched, some of it clumping together. Herbert’s hair is practically plastered to his head. One of the things ripped your shirt and the button-up is hanging open, which means another bra is ruined by being soaked in blood. Herbert’s white shirt is now red, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“I think it is safe to say that nothing like this would happen in Seattle.” Herbert’s voice sounds downright amused and he’s grinning when you look at him again.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You snap and it’s a good think you’re no longer holding the chainsaw. “Why are you acting like this?”

“Like what?” Herbert is trying to sound dry, as if he’s vaguely amused by your rage. As if you couldn’t crush his throat with your bare hands.

“You’re acting like me going on an interview is some huge personal insult! Ever since it first came up, you’ve been such a fucking dick, like you have some say in my life!”

“I am very aware of my lack of any say in your life. But if you are going to leave and move across the country, I have a right to voice my concerns.” Herbert can’t look at you as he tries to wiggle out of this conversation, but he only digs himself in deeper.

“Concerns? Herbert, you don’t give a shit about me!” You’re so enraged that you feel dizzy for a moment, but you remain steady on your feet and facing him.

“Is that what you think?” You don’t notice the soft edge to his voice, barely see him start to move closer to you.

“Yes! You don’t give a shit about me or anyone but yourself! So why does it matter if I leave?”

It’s been bothering you ever since the fight about who would keep Ghost. Why does Herbert give a damn about where you go? What’s been going on between the two of you is just sex, it doesn’t mean anything. Even when it does, it doesn’t. And yet, he’s been acting like he wants you to stay. There isn’t any other explanation for that, for why he’s been avoiding you since you had returned from Seattle a few days ago. 

Not that it matters what he wants or thinks. If you get this residency, you’re going. The interview had gone alright, at least in your opinion. You had stumbled a bit over some questions regarding your third year, but you had recovered nicely. The whole ‘war zone’ thing had helped, as it turned out.

But a part of you wants him to care. To give a damn whether or not you go or stay. You want to feel wanted, like those moments do mean something. That it isn’t all in your head. Because you want to stay in Arkham, deep down. All the family you have left is in this house. This is the only place that has felt like home in a long time.

_(he feels like home)_

In Seattle, you had wound up talking to another prospective resident, a woman who reminded you of Megan. She had insisted that Herbert was your boyfriend, no matter what either of you said. Apparently having sex on a regular basis, living together (even with a roommate), trusting each other, taking care of each other and enjoying each other’s company, made up a relationship.

All of that combined with you not wanting anyone else…that was a hell of a convincing argument.

“You can’t leave. Not after everything. I need to be able to keep track of your progress, to see if the serum has any long-term effects.”

“Is that all? Am I only worth keeping around because I’m a successful experiment?”

It would be so easy to say yes to that. Herbert knows that if he does, that would likely truly be the end of that less than platonic element of the relationship. Not that it had been happening since the news of your interview had come out. He had been avoiding you just as much as you had been avoiding him. And yes, you were a successful experiment.

But he couldn’t deny how he had felt seeing your reactions to his work. There were pages of notes on how joyful you had looked, the relief on your face when you had realized the pain was starting to recede, the way it seemed as if a burden was being lifted from your shoulders. It had felt…good.

_(he tries not to think about why he created that form of the serum in the first place, what drove him want to help you when it would have been far easier to not do anything)_

“Because if that’s it, there are ways to keep in touch. I don’t need to stay here.” Your voice is steady, but just barely and you turn to leave.

Herbert’s fingers close around the remaining sleeve of your shirt and you stop.

The words are in his throat, but they’re blocked. He can’t get them out, he can’t tell you that he needs you, that you staying with him isn’t just something he wants. He knows better, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Logic is long gone.

You have no idea what you expected him to say when he finally speaks, but “You’re bleeding.” was not even close to being on the list.

Both of you are bleeding from multiple places. Herbert had noticed the wound on your forehead and then he sees the one on your thigh when he steps back. It’s hard to tell what blood is from the wound and what is from splatter. Once again, he’s got a split lip, along with a slash on his arm and bloody, battered knuckles on both hands. By tomorrow, both of you are going to be covered in bruises and everything is going to hurt like hell. But right now, neither of you feel much pain.

Before you can wave him off, Herbert has you on the floor, your back against a table that is on its side and he’s fumbling with the button of your jeans, pulling them off your legs. There is still blood streaked on your legs, but it’s easy for him to find the wound and he’s relieved to see that it isn’t as deep as he had feared.

“You’re going to be alright. It’s only a flesh wound.”

Herbert’s forehead is pressed against yours as he looks you over. There is so much blood and he knows that he should pull away, stop touching you. But he can’t. And you don’t want him to. You take the hand that’s resting on your thigh and raise it, inspecting his knuckles.

“I wonder who is going to take care of you if I go to Seattle.” Your voice is hardly above a whisper and he can feel your breath wash over his hand.

“I could ask you the same question.” One of Herbert’s fingers brushes over the scar on your throat and then the one that runs from one clavicle to the other. The scars stand out on your skin, stark reminders of what you had survived.

Of course, you could snark back and point out that without him in your life, the number of dangerous incidents would probably go down drastically. But you don’t.

“It almost sounds like you want to be the one who takes care of me.”

Normally, you would have amusement lacing your voice, you would be trying to undercut the moment in some way. Make it seem less than what it was. But not this time.

This is a crossroads moment. One option is that things stay the same. Maybe the two of you would start having sex again, but things wouldn’t really change

The other is riskier. It’s not as much of a sure thing. You don’t know where this could go, what could happen.

But you still press your mouth to your knuckles, some of his blood smearing on your mouth. Herbert doesn’t respond to your statement, his eyes fluttering closed at the sensation of your mouth brushing against his skin.

“There are people in Seattle. Nearly half a million of them. I’m sure someone out there could take of me.” You let go of his hand and lift your head, your foreheads no longer touching.

Herbert lunges forward, his fingers tangling in your blood-soaked hair and he yanks you forward. The kiss is greedy, as if he’s a starved man and you’re the only source of nourishment he’s seen in eons. His lip is still bleeding, and you can taste it, but it doesn’t matter.

It’s easy for you to rip his shirt off, even with the kissing distracting you. Your hands are scrabbling along his thighs as he removes the remains of your shirt and your bra, both garments joining his shirt in being tossed aside.

By the time both of you are naked and you’re on his lap, legs on either side of him, neither of you are thinking very clearly. This want is burning both of you from the inside out, threatening to consume every bit of who you are if it isn’t satisfied. Herbert’s hands are still slick as he squeezes your injured thigh, wrenching a little cry from you as you sink down on his cock.

“Fuck I’ve missed this,” you groan as you begin to ride him, digging your nails into his shoulders, Herbert only able to groan in response as pleasure and pain intertwine for a few glorious moments. You’re practically searing, so tight and wet around him, making his sense take leave, his ability to speak going with them.

The sound of flesh meeting flesh fills the basement, along with grunts, moans, cries, even squeals. Herbert’s perfectly kept nails drag down your arms and back, splitting open your skin in a few places, creating short gashes on your flesh that would be little red lines by the next morning and gone within a week. He thrusts up the best he can, his mouth all over your chest, desperately suckling a breast one moment and then dragging his tongue over a scar the next, keeping you guessing as to what he’ll do next.

There is a wicked smile on your face when you manage to string together a full sentence. “You look good in red.”

The kiss that follows that statement borders on violent, and he bites your lower lip hard enough that it bleeds a bit, enough for him to taste it. “Mein Herz,” he groans against your mouth, his hand going to your clit. He knows your body well enough that he doesn’t need to even look to find it.

“Meus amor.” You cry out as his fingers drive you to the edge, dangling you over the cliff in what feels like the blink of an eye. And then he pushes you over and you’re screaming his name, your body never stopping.

“No one could take care of you the way I can.” Herbert’s voice isn’t even the usual matter of fact as you continue to ride him, leaning back a bit this time, allowing him a perfect view of your body, of the sight of him thrusting in and out of your cunt. He sounds desperate, intense as his fingers continue their work, determined to make you come again and again. While what he’s doing to you makes his words appear to be about no one being able to take you to the heights of physical pleasure he can, the way he’s looking at you, the softness of his expression as your eyes meet in the dim basement, it says something else.

_(stay and you can anything you want. please don’t leave me_

_i need you_

_love me and mend.)_

“Promise?” You can barely speak, but your face says it all. This time, you haven’t even bothered to try and hide anything. You’re vulnerable, exposed and for once, you’re not afraid.

_(if i stay, there is no going back to what it was like before_

_i’ll take care of you_

_because i can’t say it now but you’ve already heard it, you already know)_

Herbert nods and you mirror the gesture. Neither of you really knows what it all means, but as he comes, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as you rake your nails down his chest, it’s clear that things have changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part of this chapter is based on a scene from the integral cut of the first movie. Which also actually shows Hill saying Dan needs to disappear, along with Dan saying Herbert is as sick as Hill is. 
> 
> Yes, the GA reference was intentional. These chaotic disasters (and I’m including Dan in that) would fit right in.


	10. i fill my lungs with the entirety of your name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time has come for them to stop running. Dan finally snaps. Nothing will be the same after this.

**i**

Breathing heavily, Herbert slumps against the overturned table as you sag against his chest, resting your head on his shoulder. Something has just happened, everything is going to be different from now on. Of course, the two of you could do what has been done every other time this has happened. Just act like nothing happened and the status quo would remain. 

But you’re tired of running. And so is Herbert. It’s time to stop, one way or another, and both of you know it. 

“Want to head upstairs?” You whisper, idly making figure-eights on his upper arm as you steady your breathing. “I might need some help washing my hair.” It’s a bullshit excuse, that’s as clear as day. This is an invitation, in a way. If he joined you, then this was going to be…something. You don’t know what the two of you will call yourselves, but this isn’t just a friendship with very excellent benefits anymore. 

“That sounds…agreeable.” Herbert says, his voice barely steady as his hands gently run along your back. 

Before either of you can move, a voice rings out. 

“Hey, are you guys down there?” 

Dan is making his way down the stairs. The eerie silence in the house paired with both of your cars being here made him assume that the two of you were down in the basement or the bathroom and since the latter was empty, he had gone downstairs.

“Don’t come in here!” Herbert calls out and Dan rolls his eyes. “There is a mess!”

“What did you do? Is Y/N with you?” Dan asks, lingering outside the door that leads to the lab. 

“Seriously, Dan, don’t come in here!” You shout. “It’s real fucking gross!”

That just encourages him and despite some more warnings to stay out, Dan opens the door. 

The lab is a bloodbath. Two bodies are slumped on the floor and there are severed limbs scattered on the floor. The amount of blood is shocking, even to Dan, who should be used to this by now. 

In the middle of the room, Herbert has a sheet wrapped around his waist, and it’s only slightly stained with blood. You pop your head out from behind the privacy screen. Both of you are covered in blood, seemingly literally from head to toe. 

“What the hell happened?” Dan’s eyes are wide, and he steps over a severed hand as he makes his way to Herbert. You emerge from behind the privacy screen, only wearing what appears to be Herbert’s shirt, which is basically red now, and holding your clothes. 

“There was an…incident.” Herbert’s tone is dry and almost bored. 

“To put it lightly.” You roll your eyes. “Someone was careless.”

“I was not-.”

“The state of the basement begs to differ.’”

“You’re the one who brought the chainsaw into this!”

“Wait, there was a chainsaw involved?” Dan is even more confused. You let out an annoyed huff and turn to go upstairs. Dan notices Herbert watching you leave, in a way that is typical of men that are not Herbert. The bespectacled man even tilts his head a little, which is equal parts horrifying, strange and funny. “Did one of your experiments injure her ass?” 

“What?” Herbert straightens up and tries to look dignified, despite being wrapped in a sheet. He fails. 

Dan rolls his eyes as he goes upstairs, wondering once again when you would get your shit together because clearly, Herbert is a lost cause. 

It doesn’t even occur to him to wonder why you were wearing Herbert’s shirt. 

**ii**

The noise from Dan’s room is audible when the door opens. You can hear the creaking bed springs, Francesca’s accented voice crying out Dan’s name, along with encouragement in both English and Italian and Dan’s grunts. It’s great that she’s been visiting during the Christmas break, but the recent snowstorm has kept everyone in the house. Which means that Dan and Francesca are the only ones in this house who are getting laid. 

Herbert firmly closes the door and takes off his shoes. You roll over onto your side and push back the comforter, inviting him in. It’s one in the morning and you know that when you wake up in about six hours, Herbert will be long gone. But at least tonight, you’ll get to sleep with him, in a very literal sense, for a little while. You nestle your cheek against his back and you’re mildly surprised to feel wool against your skin. 

“Cold down there tonight?” You ask, your voice mildly slurred from drowsiness. 

“It is the middle of winter.” Herbert’s voice is dry, but missing the derision that he would use on most people. It’s almost affectionate. 

“Your sweater feels nice. Might steal it sometime.”

“Why?”

“It’s a standard courtship ritual for the female to ‘steal’ an item of the male’s clothing. Usually something that would keep her warm, such as a jacket, sweater or sweatshirt.”

“And what would be the purpose of that?”

“To have a reminder of him, I guess. But I’m not an expert in this field.”

“Clearly.”

“Shut up. Neither are you.” You kiss him on the neck and tighten your arms around him. 

The two of you still haven’t really talked about what this is yet, even though it’s been a few weeks since that day in the basement. The only thing the two of you have settled on is that the two of you are exclusive. Technically only sexually, as that was the only thing discussed explicitly, but the other ways that people can be intimate with each other are implied. This whole thing is still a secret, which is why there is a moratorium on sexual contact while there are two other people constantly in the house. The two of you have only risked doing anything while Dan is home a couple of times and that was limited to when he was asleep and the two of you were in the basement. 

So just holding each other is all the two of you have, at least for now. Only once the two of you have the time (and emotional strength, though neither of you will ever admit that) to have that discussion, will there be the possibility for more, even when others are around. Maybe it’ll feel less awkward to be affectionate when people can hear, maybe even when people can see it happening, once there is a label for whatever this is. 

All the two of you know is that this feels right. That this is something good, even if it doesn’t have a name. 

When you wake up in the morning, there is a dark gray sweater neatly folded on top of your dresser. 

**iii**

It begins like any other day. 

Dan arrives home to a mostly quiet house. Ghost and Addams are playing in the little obstacle course that you had built in a corner of the living room, the kitten enjoying catnip mouse while the finger creature tries to jump through a hoop. There is music coming from your room, the noise rather faint. You’re likely studying and Herbert is in the basement, just as usual. Dan heads downstairs, figuring that Herbert was up to something. Over the past week, there had been a few packages delivered to the house from companies that Dan had never heard of. They were probably from medical supply companies. 

The basement is quiet, for once. Dan cracks open the door silently, just enough to see that Herbert is standing over a table that has a body on it, though it is covered by a white sheet. Herbert reaches over to start his recorder. “January 12th. Subject: Female. Age, 25. In excellent physical condition.”

That’s all Dan needs to hear. He silently closes the door and goes to wash his hands. He’s still wearing his scrubs and he figures that he might as well go and help Herbert and prevent another incident like the one from last month. He was sure that if you were dragged into another basement episode, you would rip Herbert’s face off with your bare hands. The energy between the two of you had been weird since that day, and Dan isn’t sure he wants to know what happened. Aside from needing to violently put down some experiments. 

Herbert is still speaking into the recorder when Dan returns. “It is not going to be easy to select what parts to use from this subject. She has excellent bone structure.”

When Herbert pulls the sheet back from the body’s face, Dan doesn’t quite realize what he’s seeing for a few moments. Because it can’t be you, strapped down to the table with what looks like a Jennings gag in your mouth. Herbert takes a scalpel from the tray and runs it along your chest.

“It is rare to find a set of perfect breasts. And it would be foolish to risk ruining them, so the entire torso would need to be used as well.” 

Before he can say anything else, Dan rushes forward and knocks the scalpel out of Herbert’s hand. “Herbert, what the hell are you doing?” He grabs Herbert by the shoulders and shakes him violently. “This is too far! She’s our friend, for God’s sake! I’m sure whatever the two of you are fighting about isn’t that serious! You don’t have to kill her!”

“Dan, it isn’t what you think. This is-.”

“This is our roommate strapped down to a lab table while you threaten to dismember her in the creepiest way possible! What else could it be?”

“Dan, Dan, Dan! Calm the fuck down! We can explain!” You’re sitting up all of a sudden, your wrists out of the cuffs and the gag out of your mouth and in one hand, while the other holds up the sheet so Dan doesn’t get a look at the goods. 

“What the hell is going on? Why was that in your mouth?” Dan gestures to the Jennings gag that’s now on the tray, right next to the scalpel and a Wartenberg wheel that he’s just noticed. 

“Because a ball gag would have ruined the immersion,” Herbert helpfully supplies. 

“We wanted an as authentic experience as possible,” you chime in. 

“Authentic to what?” Dan is even more confused than ever, unable to connect the dots because he doesn’t want to. 

“Well, this isn’t the most accurate name, but I like to call it our Bride of Frankenstein fantasy.”

“Okay, okay, you guys need to back it up a lot. I’m really lost.”

\--

Ten minutes later, the three of you are sitting around the kitchen table, Dan holding a mug of hot chocolate. You’re wearing jeans and the gray sweater, sitting next to Herbert, a hand resting casually on his forearm. 

“So the two of you are…”Dan is still in shock over what he had just heard and even the hot chocolate doesn’t quite help. Actually, it’s basically useless right now, at least for the shock. 

“We are in a sexual relationship.” Herbert’s tone is bland and you nod in agreement. 

“How long has this been going on?” 

“That doesn’t exactly have a simple answer. There’s been...something going on since before the massacre.” You try to answer his question neatly as you can while you reflect back on that part of your life. Dan nods, remembering Herbert’s weird behavior after you had started dating that resident and how you had been oddly affected by it. “We kissed for the first time in the old basement, after the massacre, not long before we left for Peru.”

“That was over a year ago. Have you guys been together the whole time?”

“No. That kiss was an isolated incident.” Herbert is totally wrong, but no one cuts in to say so. “The first time we had intercourse was in Peru, the night we all decided to leave.”

“The night I almost died?”

“Yes. The incident pushed us towards that course of action. We were caught up in the adrenaline rush and the emotional fallout of what had happened. It would not have happened otherwise.”

“I’m glad that my near death experience helped the two of you get together.” Dan sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. In hindsight, a few things make a lot more sense. Both of you have been in better moods recently, as if you’re more relaxed. Last weekend, Dan had come down from his room to find the two of you in the living room, watching The Princess Bride. Herbert had been painting your toenails, dryly stating that you had spilled nail polish the last time and he would rather not have that happen again. And there was the whole ‘Herbert watching you leave’ moment after the basement incident. Along with a lot of other little things. 

Maybe he’s not as observant as he thought he was. 

“We’re not...together. Whatever that means,” Herbert replies. 

“It has been on and off until last month. We recently decided to be sexually exclusive, but that’s mostly out of practicality.” You sigh. The key word is ‘mostly’, but Dan doesn’t need to know the finer details. “But we’re not...it’s just sex.”

There have been fewer things Dan has doubted more than that statement. “I need some time to process this…”

**iv**

A little more than a week later, Dan is still processing things. 

It’s a lot to take in, finding out that your roommates are having sex and had been having sex for months without you having a clue about it. Dan had called Francesca as soon as he could after finding out and had been surprised to learn that she had known something was going on for a long time. Apparently, she had thought his roommates were a couple for the first few months they had known each other. The village they had lived on the outskirts of in Peru had thought that Dan was a third wheel living with a married couple and had called Dan ‘pobre hombre solitario’.

And during her last visit, she had seen Herbert sneaking out of your room at four in the morning in just his pants and an undershirt, which was a big giveaway that something was going on. 

Dan is a few beers deep when he wanders into the kitchen that Friday night, looking for something to eat. Addams and Ghost trail behind him, likely seeking treats, though Dan is not sure how the former consumes anything, if it even does. As Dan rifles through the cabinets, he hears noises coming from upstairs. A moan that could have come from either of you. 

It’s the first time that he’s been confronted with this...thing. The two of you have been very discreet, even though he knows now. No kissing or hand-holding. It’s almost like nothing is going on.

But now he knows and the pieces begin to fall into place. 

Upstairs, you’re luxuriating in the afterglow of your release, Herbert coming up from between your legs, his lips still shiny. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and you smile, running a finger down his cheek. 

Something warm spreads through your chest as you look into Herbert’s eyes. His gaze is soft, just for a few moments. You lean in and just before your lips meet, there is an awful noise coming from the hallway. 

The sound of clanging metal is right outside of your bedroom door. Then, Dan is yelling alongside it. “FAMILY MEETING! FAMILY MEETING! I AM CALLING A FAMILY MEETING! DOWNSTAIRS!” You scramble out of bed, grabbing your robe. Dan is outside of your room, holding a baking sheet in each hand, the source of the sound that had ruined the moment. “Both of you gotta come. We have to talk.”

“About what?” Herbert is standing behind you, adjusting his tie and then resting a hand on your shoulder. 

“This!” Dan waves one of the pans in your general direction. “We gotta talk about this...thing.”

“Didn’t we do that already?” Herbert mutters and you gently elbow him. 

“I have a few more questions.” 

And that is how you find yourself sitting on the couch with Herbert, Dan in the chair and the pets playing on the floor, oblivious to what is going on. 

“So, I was doing some thinking and I remembered something. That guy who you...did stuff with in the kitchen...that was Herbert, wasn’t it?” 

You sheepishly nod and Herbert pointedly does not look at Dan or you, suddenly fascinated by the wall. Dan takes another swig from his beer as he remembers how you had described your ‘date’. “So Herbert was the merely adequate guy?”

“Technically yes. But he was actually pretty damn good.” Herbert looks pleasantly surprised and you smile at him. 

“Have you guys done it anywhere else in the house? Aside from the basement and the kitchen? I need to know what to clean.”

“Her room.”

“His room.”

“The hallway upstairs.”

“The hallway downstairs. Oh, and the entryway.”

“The bathrooms.”

“The laundry room.”

“And the chair you’re sitting in.” Herbert smirks when Dan springs up from his chair. 

“I’m gonna have to burn the house down…” Dan groans, dragging his hand down his face. “And you know what, I’m gonna say it. I wasn’t going to, but I have to.” He looked over at the chair and shuddered, grabbing the blanket from the cat bed to sit on top of when he returned to the chair. “It’s not just sex.”

“Yes, it is Dan.” Herbert’s voice is terse, but there is an extra edge to it, as if Dan has really hit a nerve. 

“What else would it be?” You ask, cocking your head. Relationships aren’t exactly your forte, even before the events of last year had messed you up more than your upbringing already had. Plain and simple, you have no idea what or how to do, even if you wanted to. And you don’t. Honestly. 

Herbert is equally confused and for the same reasons. Though he also had never even thought about it before you. After this had started, the thought had occurred to him and not just because he had wondered if you would have expectations. 

The two of you had found the perfect arrangement. And now Dan was questioning it. 

“You’re totally in love with each other! That explains...everything. All of it! I’ve never painted the toenails of a woman I’m just having sex with,” Dan points out and then finishes off his beer. “And they would have never jumped into a fight with one of your creatures for me. Y/N, I’ve known you for three years and trust me, I can tell.”

Maybe he has a point. But neither of you are willing to back down and admit that maybe he could be onto something, even to yourselves. 

“Look, Y/N, I hope you know what you’re doing. I don’t want to see you getting hurt.” Dan awkwardly claps your shoulder. “And Herbert… I’m just glad you’re with a living person.” Herbert glares at Dan, who goes back to the kitchen for another beer, muttering about cowards under his breath. 

**v**

“Fuck, that feels so good! Don’t stop, don’t stop!”

As Herbert drives you closer and closer to the edge, your hands scramble all over Herbert’s dark sheets, your fingers grasping what little you could in your frantic attempts to maintain some control. You’re on your stomach, his hands gripping your hips tightly. The two of you finally have a couple days alone, as Dan is in Boston, visiting Francesca while she’s in town for an assignment. And the two of you intend to make as much use of your privacy as possible. 

When Herbert pulls out, you practically snarl in protest, but then he’s turning you around and your legs are spread and then he’s pulling them upwards, until they’re resting against his shoulders. The frenzied pace resumes and he’s hitting some spot deep inside you and his fingers are on your clit. 

For a moment, it feels like everything just stops. Your eyes meet his and it hits you so hard that the breath is stolen from your lungs. When everything resumes, you’re coming harder than you ever have before. Something that’s more than the usual sensation rolls through your body, deep inside your chest and you can’t help what happens next. 

You start sobbing as your body convulses in pleasure and Herbert pulls out, concern etched on his face. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, setting your legs down. 

When you try to speak, you just sob harder, so you shake your head. It takes you a bit to find your words, during which Herbert pulls the blanket over your body and settles next to you, unsure of whether or not to touch you, so he doesn’t. 

“I love you.” Your voice isn’t thick with sobs. Instead, it’s bitter, harsh, as if you’re embarrassed to be saying those words. You sit up, curling into yourself a bit as you wrap your arms around your knees, glancing at Herbert out of the corner of your eye, as if you’re waiting for him to do something. “Dan was right. I do love you and this…it isn’t about the sex. At least for me. Not anymore.”

This was the last thing you had expected would happen when you had met Herbert that August night. Hell, this was something you had never thought you would do. You don’t know how to do this. Your mother had died when you had been ten and your father had become a shell afterwards. His advice could be summed up as ‘don’t’. Without any other family and all of the moving around that had happened afterwards, you had never really been able to find someone to teach you about this sort of thing, even when you had wanted to learn. Movies and TV made love seem so big and impossible. Add in your difficulties with socializing and it was a miracle you had been able to find people to sleep with you. 

But finding someone who would stay? Finding someone who you wanted to stay? That was beyond miraculous. This was easy, it felt good and right, the two of you connected and it all just fit, both in and out of bed. This wasn’t supposed to happen to you. You were supposed to finish med school, find a good residency and become the surgeon you had wanted to be since you were a little girl. You weren’t supposed to be willing to cover up murders or go to work in a war zone, become good at fighting off the reanimated dead or fall for your morally dubious roommate. 

And yet, it had happened. 

Herbert just stares at you. He hadn’t expected this to happen. You had been a complete surprise, right from the start. Though that had been in a very literal sense. But he had still come to enjoy your company and had been at ease enough with you to joke around. Which had led to that moment last Thanksgiving, over a year ago. The night that had started his downfall. 

Somehow, you had wormed your way into his mind, into his very person. You had ruined his greatest plan to date, literally spitting it in his face. And yet, when he had seen you looking somewhere between feral and devastated, your mouth smeared with the blood from Meg’s heart, he hadn’t been seized with the urge to return the destruction. That was when he had known that you firmly had him in your grasp. 

When his parents had still been alive, he had never been close to them. Until he had met Dr. Gruber, Herbert had never been close to anyone. And then, he had met you and Dan, the latter becoming his first real friend. But whatever he shared with you had never quite had a name. Not until now. But he is still at a loss as to how to proceed and he was not the sort to move ahead without a clear plan in place. 

When he tries to reply, his throat is tight and he can feel something clawing at the edges of his mind. So Herbert just pulls you to his chest, holding onto you tightly. He’s not pushing you away, he’s not running from this. It doesn’t seem like much, but it’s actually pretty damn good. 

So, you tell him something that you’ve been keeping secret for over a year. There had never been a moment that felt right, not until now. 

“The acting dean of the medical school and the president of the university called me in for another meeting a few days after the first one. They told me that I could stay in Arkham, keep going to school. No consequences. They didn’t say why, but they didn’t have to. Can’t send a fragile little lady to a war zone. But obviously…I didn’t. Because I wanted to stay with you.” And with Dan, but you would be lying if you said that both of them had popped into your head in that moment after the offer had been made. “After all we went through, I couldn’t just stay here.” You had seen him at his lowest and he had seen you at yours. That alone had been reason enough for you to stay with him, even if it meant going into a war zone. 

Herbert tilts your chin up and brushes some of the hair from your face. You’ve essentially cracked open your chest, exposed your insides to him, allowed him the closest thing possible to his fingers being in your raw, open wound. 

If you can do that, he can return the favor. 

“This has not been about the sex for me for some time. I did not want to examine why, perhaps because I already knew. It is because…” Herbert pauses, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “Ich liebe dich.” It’s somehow easier in German and you might not know much of the language, but you know what this means. You smile and a stunned giggle escapes before you grab his face and pull him down for a kiss, clumsily repeating the phrase. 

**vi**

So when Dan locks the two of you in the basement on Valentine’s Day, blasting love songs such as ‘I Want To Know What Love Is’ and ‘Endless Love’, the two of you are able to just laugh it off and figure that maybe it’s time for Dan to know that he was right. But only after he stews for a little while longer. 


	11. finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been relatively peaceful. Med school graduation has come and gone, the gang are doctors now and the feral idiots are actually happy together. But, there are still loose ends to be tied up. The end is here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no idea how to end this, so I wound up taking inspiration from Would You Rather and decided to do something a little different. Hope this is a good ending!

**August 1988**

**i**

It’s been a very long day, with back-to-back surgeries. Herbert has been up for at least 36 hours, he hasn’t eaten since the day before, hasn’t sat down in at least eight hours and as always, he’s never felt better. After all, he’s rising up in the neurosurgery department here at Miskatonic and he’s confident that he’ll become the youngest head of the department. His other work is going well, though of course his job at the hospital cuts into his time spent on that. But progress is still being made regularly.

You’re still on shift when Herbert and Dan are leaving, smiling at them as they pass you standing at a nurse’s station, going over paperwork and idly chatting with one of the nurses there. As the two of you are at work, there aren’t any sweet nothing or physical displays of affection exchanged, which Dan finds odd, but he’s given up on trying to change your minds about that. He’s moved onto other things.

“So, that patient who needed spinal surgery had some interesting things to say,” Dan says casually as he drives the two of them home.

“Did he?” Herbert mutters, knowing what Dan is getting at. It’s the same thing that Dan has been babbling about for the last few months. The patient had discussed how he had dropped out of medical school because he had wanted to salvage his marriage and believed that every doctor would have to make the choice between their personal and professional lives. Dan had stared at Herbert, encouraging him to say that he was in a relationship with a fellow doctor and everything was going well. But of course, Herbert hadn’t said a word.

“I’m just saying that this would be the time to do it, now that we’re residents. Come on, it’s been a year and a half since you guys became…whatever you are. I could have been engaged three times by now.”

“Then go get engaged if you’re so enamored with the idea,” Herbert snaps. Dan and Francesca had discussed the idea after the three of you had graduated from medical school and since she wasn’t ready to put down roots in Arkham, Dan was holding off on popping the question. Which meant he was trying to live vicariously through his roommates.

“The moment I can, trust me, I will.” Dan sighs, as if he’s daydreaming about that right now. “I mean, you guys might well. Whatever you guys have got going on is pretty serious, right? Might as well make it official.”

The last year and a half has been rather good for the two of you. You hadn’t gotten the residency in Seattle, but you’re doing well at Miskatonic. The trauma surgery department is your kingdom, just like neuro is Herbert’s. Your relationship isn’t exactly public knowledge, however. It isn’t a secret, either. But the lack of public displays of affection and the two of you not being ones to talk about your love lives to others have given the world the impression that the two of you are just friends. If anyone asked, then they would be told the truth. But no one had, at least not yet. What people think doesn’t matter.

What does matter is that the two of you are more than content with whatever this is. There isn’t really a label to it, as boy/girlfriend sounds childish. The closest one is ‘partners’. The two of you do love each other, though the two of you don’t say it as often as Dan and Francesca do. It’s shown far more than said and more importantly, it’s a fact.

“We know what we’re doing. Some of us don’t need to explicitly define our relationships.”

Dan raises an eyebrow at Herbert’s curt statement, the irony of Herbert West not caring about explicit definitions not lost on him. “Alright. Whatever you say.” He paused as he made the final turn and began to drive up their street. “I still can’t believe it sometimes.” Three years ago, if someone had told him that his weird roommate would be in a committed relationship with his other roommate and that they were happy together by normal people standards, Dan would have thought that whoever told him that needed a long stay in the Sefton Ward.

And yet, that is the reality he is currently living in.

**ii**

In the dark of his bedroom, the only sounds are some owls hooting in the distance, Herbert’s grunts of both effort and pleasure and your own cries of rapture. The two of you are entangled in his sheets, wrapped up in each other, in your own little world, where nothing else matters.

Your fingers are firmly gripping Herbert’s shoulders, your fingers denting his flesh as his hands greedily grasp at whatever he could reach, holding you as close as he could. He watches your face twist in pleasure, and he realizes that he still finds that same delight in knowing that the reason you’re like this is because of him as when this had been something new. You throw your head back, moonlight washing over your face and awe just overtakes him. You’re beautiful, he thinks, his mind a haze of pleasure and wonderment.

Herbert stops and the words just come out.

“What do you think about marriage?”

You freeze and just stare at him for a few moments, dumbstruck. You had not been expecting that to come out of his mouth, not just right now, but ever. It takes you a while to even remember you can speak and even more until you remember you can move.

“Right now?” You cock your head, gazing up at Herbert with a carefully blank expression on your face. He can’t read you right now and that’s a rare thing these days.

“No.”

“So why bring it up?”

“Dan brought up the subject on the drive home. For the past several months, he has been trying to convince me that we should wed because it’s the right time and so that we can properly define what we are to each other.”

“He hasn’t said a word about that to me. Which is a bit sexist, in my opinion.” Though you’re joking, as you’re sure that Dan isn’t trying to be. “And it’s none of his business.”

“That is what I have been telling him. We know what this is and that’s all that matters.”

“Right.”

You smile slightly and push him onto his back, taking control of the situation. Herbert groans at the sight of you on top of him, the sensation of how you feel around him, that look in your eyes as you gaze down at him. The scar on your mouth twitches as your face contorts in pleasure once again and soon, he’s not thinking of what he had just said or about much at all.

Though it lingers in the corners of your mind, along with some other things that had been weighing on you. Little fragments of whispers hiss at you as you ride him to your climax, only leaving at that major moment, when you’re coming and howling Herbert’s name as he moans yours and the two of you share that perfect moment of bliss.

“Amor,” you manage to say, kissing him on the cheek as you roll off him and onto the mattress. Herbert wraps an arm around your shoulders and kisses the top of your head. You rest your head on his shoulder and wonder if he had been telling the truth about why he had brought that subject up.

Every now and then, even before Herbert, you had thought about getting married. And after him, the thought had cropped up more than it had in the past. It didn’t seem inevitable, but you didn’t see this ending. The two of you were going to last. So of course, making it legal had come to mind.

And lately, you have been thinking about it more and more, almost regularly. Your head has actually been rather crowded in recent days.

But right now, as you gaze up at Herbert’s face, which is free from the usual signs of heavy thought, stress and everything else that comes with being a man like him, all of those thoughts begin to slip away. In the quiet darkness of his bedroom, there is peace, at least for a little while.

Neither of you are aware of what lurks in the hallway.

**iii**

The past few years have not been the best for Leslie Chapham. He’s barely hanging on to job, his wife is still in the psych ward, never to come out and no one believes him. Everyone sees those three as survivors, as victims. Well, almost everyone. There are a few people who see them as what they really are, but they can’t help him make his bosses or anyone else see the truth.

So he is forced to go at it alone.

Chapham sneaks into the house that they all share late one night. Cain is out and the other two are home, or at least their cars are there. The house is quiet, an eerie feeling settling over the detective as he creeps through the halls.

The sounds coming from one of the bedrooms is audible as soon as he climbs to the top of the stairs. The door to one of those rooms is cracked open and he can stand in the hall without being seen by the occupants of the room while he can see them.

For a little while, Chapham just watches. His side view and the lack of lighting doesn’t let him see much, but it’s obvious that you’re riding West, that West is fucking you and both of you are having a good time. He watches as you obviously come, crying out that little weasel’s name and then he’s finishing off.

“Amor…” he hears you whisper, and he can see you kiss West. That’s when Chapham leaves to go explore the rest of the house. No one seems to know that you’re sleeping with West, so seeing it for himself had been a shock and he feels vaguely ill as what he just saw sinks in.

–

Once you’ve drifted off to sleep, Herbert leaves you there, getting dressed and heading down to the lab. There is always work to be done, after all.

Though he doesn’t get to do the work he had set out to do.

As he stands over the body of the detective, Herbert mulls over his options. He could get rid of the body, make it look like Chapham had a heart attack. No one would question that. But he could always use bodies. Or their parts.

You come downstairs just as he’s about to inject the detective’s body and there is an argument. As usual, you beg him to think about it, not to use the body before him for parts. The argument doesn’t last long, but even though you lose, you don’t leave the basement, watching from the stairs as Herbert brings the detective back to life.

In the chaos that follows, you do fire the gun, but your aim is off and the bullet hits the wall instead. Herbert manages to sever the man’s hand, spraying both of you with blood, but Chapham still escapes into the night.

The basement is eerily quiet, at least until you rush to the sink and vomit, your hands trembling even as you clean up, refusing to meet Herbert’s eyes.

Dan finds the two of you sitting on opposite ends of the living room couch, covered in blood, not looking at each other or speaking. You’re shaking and on the verge of tears as you recount what had happened, Herbert then supplying his own version of events.

There is nothing the three of you can do but wait for the other shoe to drop.

**iv**

And oh, how does that shoe drop.

A week later finds you and Dan driving home from work together. Herbert is still at the hospital, finishing up a surgery. The car ride is silent. There has been a lot of silence lately.

No one talks much at home. The three of you just can’t be in the same room for long. When you had slept, it had been alone, in your own bed. You and Herbert haven’t touched each other since that night. Everyone is just tense and waiting for the inevitable consequences of Chapham’s death and reanimation.

You don’t even hear the pets when you walk in. Setting down your bag, you go to the kitchen as Dan heads up to his room. You’re kind of hungry and maybe you can get and keep some soup down.

It takes you a moment to realize someone is at the kitchen table, waiting for you.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You yell and back away, heading for the phone. “Get the fuck out of my house!”

When your visitor gets up from the table and steps fully into the light, you scream in horror at what’s before you and turn to run. “DAN! DAN! DAN!” You’re near hysterics as you try to get to the front door, hoping that Dan can figure out that he needs a weapon and you wonder where the gun is, if it’s anywhere Dan can get it.

The blow to your head comes from the side and the world goes dark before you hit the floor.

–

Herbert gets home at nearly midnight, wondering why the house is so dark and quiet. Even these days, someone is usually watching TV by now or at least one of the lights would be on even if no one was in the room.

As he stands near the basement door, he can hear some movement from the dining room. “Dan?” he calls out, making his way over to the room in question.

When Herbert turns on the light, he’s greeted with the sight of you and Dan sitting at the dining room table, still in your work clothes. There are dried tears streaked down your face and Dan looks enraged, his gaze fixed at something standing in the shadows of the room.

“We’ve been waiting for you.” A familiar voice says as the figure comes into the light. Herbert manages to keep his face blank even as a chill runs down his spine as he hears Hill’s voice for the first time in years.

But the body that steps forward is Pierce Baird, Hill’s lackey and the man that had dated you as part of his dirty work for the former doctor/professor. Pierce quit his job several months ago and it’s clear that he’s been spending that time with Hill.

Hill’s head looks the same as it had the last time Herbert had seen it, it’s remarkably preserved. Though the last time Herbert had seen it, the head had been on its own and in a sack. Not sewn onto the neck and shoulder of his minion.

“Don’t try to run, West. Lieutenant Chapham is waiting for you outside. And if you somehow manage to get away, your friends will die.” Pierce pulls out the chair next to Dan’s and across from yours. “Sit. I highly recommend it.” The two-headed man makes his way over to you and puts a knife to your throat.

“Why are you even here?” Herbert asks as he sits down, his mind racing as he tries to figure out a way out of this.

“We’re going to play a game,” Hill rasps.

**v**

Right now, your only goal is to survive. To make it out alive by any means necessary. And if that means playing this twisted version of Truth or Dare that the freak that was Pierce and Dr. Hill is forcing you, Dan and Herbert to play, then you’ll do it. The rules of this version are a little different than you’re used to. There is only one form of dare and it involves being jabbed with a cattle prod. Anyone can volunteer to get prodded in place of the person whose turn it was, though that had yet to happen. There would be more games, this is just the first one. You just know that it’s going to get worse.

No one was willing to try and make a break for it just yet. Chapham was lurking somewhere outside of the dining room, his footsteps are audible sometimes. And there could be others under Hill’s control lurking nearby, though so far there had been no indication that was the case. The gun is also holstered on Pierce’s hip, which gives him a pretty big advantage. But you don’t want to risk it, there is so much at stake now.

But you still answer the question about the amount of sexual partners you’d had and if you had ever plagiarized or otherwise cheated in an academic or workplace setting. Dan had refused to answer his first question, which was if he had moved on from Meg or if he was still in mourning, earning him a shock. He had answered the second, which had been the relatively tamer inquiry about his faithfulness in general. Herbert hadn’t even allowed his questions to be asked, choosing to take the shocks instead. His lack of reactions to the shocks seemed to frustrate both Pierce and Hill, though it was mostly the former that expressed his vexation.

When it’s your turn for the third time, your hands are shaking as Pierce and Hill approach, the former licking his lips as he stares down at you. “Truth,” you spit out, the single word loaded with rage and if you knew that it would be successful, you would charge him and rip his head off with your bare hands, split his skull open with your bare hands.

“Nuh-uh, sweetheart,” Pierce grins, the madness in his eyes shining more than ever as he picks up the cattle prod. “You can’t do more than two truths in a row. It’s time for your dare.”

Your mind begins to race as you try to figure out if you can take the shock. Pierce seems to favor the ribs, as that’s where he’s shocked Herbert both times, but you don’t know if he’ll decide to use the prod there. It seems equally likely he’ll shock you somewhere else, somewhere a little more…personal.

“That’s bullshit! You should have said that earlier,” Dan snaps and you give him a look that begs for him to shut up. You’re the one who is being threatened with a cattle prod and maybe not pissing off the man wielding it is a good idea.

“Unless you want to take the shot for her, then be quiet.” There is a long pause and Dan shamefully averts his gaze. “Too bad.” Pierce shrugs and idly plays with the prod. “Now, now…where am I gonna stick it?” Hill’s eyes are sweeping over your body, as if he’s studying you. Death and reanimation have only made his gaze creepier. He glances in the general direction of Dan and Herbert for a moment before turning it back to you as Pierce runs the prod along your thigh.

“I wish I could say that I’m disappointed in you, Pierce, but I’m not,” Herbert sneers, diverting attention away from you, though the tightness in your chest doesn’t let up. “Psychological torment would be far more effective on her, but you’re too foolish to figure that out. Not to mention the sheer cowardice of using a cattle prod on a woman.” It doesn’t feel natural saying the last sentence, but he knows what sort of man Pierce is and making him feel like the villain is a surefire way to get under his skin.

“What, do you want me to shock you instead?” Pierce asks, turning towards Herbert, the prod still in his grasp.

“If you insist.” Herbert can take a few more shocks, he’s mostly recovered from the ones he already received.

“How chivalrous, West.” Hill’s voice is laced with amusement as he turns to stare down his former nemesis. “I will allow it…if you reveal a truth of your own afterwards.”

Looking you in the eyes, Herbert says “I accept your terms.” He is not going to cower, especially not in front of Hill.

Both you and Dan know why he’s doing this, and you want to scream, feeling more helpless than you have in a long time. Maybe you can take it, maybe it wouldn’t do what you feared it would. But before you can say anything to stop this from happening, Pierce is jabbing the prod into Herbert’s side for the third time tonight and this time, Herbert’s expression flickers, as if he’s in pain.

Maybe this time, it is rage that is making you feel sick.

But Herbert merely straightens up and adjusts his tie before turning to face the two-headed sociopath. “Truth,” he says smugly, back to his usual self for a moment.

Hill’s smile can only be described as slimy as he indulges in making everyone wait for his question, just to draw it out, intensifying any feelings of dread.

“On the night of the massacre, how long did you hesitate before you decided to help Miss. L/N?”

That had not been something you had ever wondered. You hadn’t even considered that Herbert could have left you there to die. It had all been a blur and you hadn’t even seen him until he had helped you off the floor. Chunks of that night are missing from your memory, but you know what happened. Or at least you had thought so.

Herbert takes his time answering. He doesn’t want to admit this, not after holding onto it for so long. “I hesitated for a few moments.” He can’t look at you, averting his gaze as soon as he’s finished speaking.

“You hesitated?” The raw pain in your voice makes the pit of his stomach ache and Herbert keeps his eyes on the floor. “You were going to leave me there?”

The story had been that Herbert had saved your life that night, he had been brave and selfless for once in his life. He had done the right thing. Any longer and your throat could have been sliced wide open, or you could have lost an eye. You would have died down there and maybe it would have taken a few extra seconds or maybe several minutes. But wondering about that didn’t matter because Herbert had saved you. And you had never considered that he had thought not to.

“No. I just didn’t act quickly enough.” Herbert finally looks over at you, sees how your eyes almost seem wet and that your hands are shaking as you grip the edge of the table. “Believe me, I wouldn’t have-.”

“Enough of that,” Hill cuts him off. “It is time for the next round…”

Pierce goes to where his bag has been set and withdraws an empty bottle of wine and three envelopes, setting one of each in front of each of you. “Dan, it’s your turn, so you get to spin. In the envelopes is your next challenge. You can choose to go through with it or get your head dunked in a barrel of water for several minutes.” As if on cue, Chapham comes in with just that barrel and leaves as soon as he sets it down. “Alright Cain. Spin it.”

Dan glares at him before he gives the bottle a whirl. The three of you watch it spin and spin before it slows down and stops, pointing right at Herbert. Before anyone can protest, the sound of the gun cocking fills the room and Herbert opens the envelope.

“It just says cherry bomb,” he says, his brows furrowed. Though you and Dan know what it means and the two of you exchange equal looks of horror.

“I was hoping you’d get that one.” Pierce puts the gun away and goes back to the bag. He comes back with the small red item and a lighter, setting them down in front of Herbert. “Light it. Hold it. And we’ll see what happens.”

“And if I don’t?” Herbert asks, summoning his best sneer.

“You either get your head dunked or if you keep asking stupid questions, I fucking shoot you in the face.”

It’s a struggle to keep his composure. He isn’t sure how much damage the firework could do, but it was more than likely that his hands would be compromised, maybe even beyond repair. All that he had worked for could wind up being for naught. Everything that had resulted from his endless efforts would be pointless. His work could wind up abandoned or even worse, stolen.

You can see the flicker of fear in Herbert’s eyes. And even though there is that ache still gnawing at you, that threat of heartbreak, you know what you have to do.

Reaching across the table, you grab the cherry bomb and lighter. Before anyone can speak, you’re holding the flame a hair’s width away from the fuse. “Do the rules for truth or dare still apply?” you ask. Your hands can handle this, you just know it. The rest of you won’t even notice the cherry bomb going off in your hands. Hopefully.

“I suppose it’s only fair…” Hill’s voice is more like a groan, as if he’s taking great pleasure in the mere idea. “Are you truly going to let her do this, West? Your foolishness has already cost her so much. Her face. Nearly her hands as well. Are you really going to let her sacrifice herself for you…again?”

“Not his choice, asshole. It’s mine.” But you’re looking into Herbert’s eyes as you flick on the lighter and bring the flame to the fuse. It lights and the countdown begins. Despite everything, you’re still going to do your best to save him because he might have hesitated, but he had still done the right thing. And time and time again afterwards, Herbert had shown you things that you had never thought possible, made you feel things that you had thought were impossible.

The things we do for love.

In those moments, as the fuse grows shorter and shorter and you hold the bomb between your hands, Herbert understands. You’re not going to leave him, he’ll always have you. And he’ll do anything for you.

When the bomb goes off, Dan looks away and even Pierce flinches. There is a long silence before they notice that you’re not screaming, there are no howls of pain. You’re still standing there, breathing heavily, the remains of the cherry bomb falling to the floor. Your hands are a little red, but otherwise fine.

“You nincompoop, it was a dud!” Hill snaps at his minion. Pierce shakes his head and he begins to protest. But you cut him off.

“No. It wasn’t.” You’re smiling, feeling giddy, almost triumphant. Herbert makes his way over to you, taking your hands in his, inspecting them carefully. “I’m just…blessed. And lucky.” You finally meet Herbert’s eyes and it just spills out of you. “I’m okay. We’re okay.”

The silence that follows your statement is briefer. “What do you mean ‘we’re okay?’” Pierce asks, moving closer to you and Herbert, who grips your hands tighter for a moment before he lets go.

It’s now or never, you suppose. “I mean that I’m okay and so is the fetus in my womb.” It’s the first time you’ve spoken of it out loud and your stomach lurches. You need a moment before you can look Herbert in the eyes again.

Both heads of the dual-headed man swivel and turn to Dan, Pierce looking downright horrified and Hill’s expression one of sheer delight. “I suppose congratulations are in order, Cain. Though I suppose your refusal to take the shock for her might be giving her second thoughts…”

“What are you talking about?” Dan asks what all three of you are thinking. Though Herbert’s mind kept going back to the fact that he was going to be a father, never able to focus on the other thing for more than a few seconds.

“The two of you are fucking, right? So clearly it’s yours.” Pierce seems to get it first, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“It’s definitely not mine. We’ve never…done that.” Dan looks vaguely queasy at the very thought and the idea is so repulsive to you that you wouldn’t even be able to joke about it under normal circumstances.

“Chapham said he saw her in the act with someone. Obviously he couldn’t remember everything from that night. But who else could it be?”

Hill turns towards you and Herbert, his eyes narrowing as he studies the two of you. “West…” he croaks, getting Herbert’s attention. “It’s yours…isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.” You glare at Hill, defiance making your eyes burn as you take a step closer, standing between Herbert and the dual-headed lunatic. “It’s Herbert’s child. Not Dan’s.”

“The two of you are-…” Pierce looks somewhere between disgusted and devastated as he takes it all in.

“It appears that I was correct. Even the lowest of life forms can get between your legs,” Hill sneers.

“And yet Pierce never made it there. What does that have to say about you?” You snap, focusing on Pierce. It’s his body, it moves under his command, it seems. Hill is a spectator, nothing more. “That Herbert has me, that I love him so much that I allowed a firecracker to go off in my hands to save him? He’s already twice the doctor you can ever be, and is certainly more of a man. No matter what you do, you’ll never be even close to measuring up to him. And we all know how hard you’ve been trying.” You smirk and look the man up and down. “All you got for your efforts is a dick that shoots out green semen and an old man sewn to you.”

In response, Pierce’s fist shoots out and for the second time that night, you’re out cold.

–

When you come to, there is something pinning you down. It takes a few moments for your vision to clear, for you to figure out what is keeping you from getting up.

Normally the sight of Herbert on top of you would be a delightful one.

But not when he’s holding a butcher knife to your stomach as if it’s a scalpel, poised to slice.

“Do it, West. Cut out that little parasite. End this little game.” Hill’s voice is soft, encouraging. “I’m a man of my word. You and Cain will go free after the deed is done.”

The blade slices through your scrub top and then he presses the flat side of the knife to your hip as one hand splays over your stomach. “Why didn’t you tell me about it?” he murmurs, a part of him breaking free from Hill’s control.

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted this. And then things kind of went sideways.” A bit of an understatement, but it’s true. “But you know, if it hadn’t….what you asked me that night.” You rest a hand on top of his. “I think it’s something I’d want with you.”

Your words just make it harder for Herbert to do what Hill’s voice inside of his mind is screaming at him to do. He should be slicing you open from groin to gullet and then eliminate the parasite. The fetus. Something he created with you. Get rid of it, get rid of it, Hill is ordering. Herbert looks at your face. You’re calm, this is nothing like the last time you had been pinned to the floor by someone wielding a blade.

And like that last time, Herbert is hesitating.

“Come on, West, get on with it!” Pierce snaps, making his way over to the two of you. “Or I’ll do it myself.”

The tip of the blade presses against the flesh right above your belly button. A crimson drop of blood oozes onto the shiny blade. The sound of a dining chair crashing down on Pierce’s back and head breaks the tense silence and just before he falls, Herbert drives the knife into the man’s thigh, the only place he can reach. The gun slides across the floor and Dan grabs it as Herbert helps you up.

“Take care of Chapham,” Herbert orders Dan. Since Dan has the size advantage and the gun, it should be easier for him, which Dan understands.

Though he does stop along the way to fire a bullet into Pierce’s knee, just to be sure that he can’t get very far if he manages to get up at all.

You and Herbert rush down to the basement, where the rest of the weapons are kept. Not that the three of you have a lot of those. It’s limited to a machete, a chainsaw and a sledgehammer, among some other, smaller tools. Though when you go to grab the machete, Herbert swats your hand away and hands you the butcher knife instead.

“Please stay down here and don’t come out until one of us comes to get you,” Herbert says and it’s as close to pleading as he’s ever been.

“Are you really going to make me stay down here like some sort of fragile damsel? Really?”

“Yes, really. You’re…in that condition and it is mine, so I am invested in seeing it through to the end!”

Herbert casts a glance at your midsection, despite your body having yet to show signs of what’s happening. You rest a hand on his cheek and smile slightly, tenderly. But only for a moment. There are other things to think about.

And one of those things is crawling down the steps, dragging his body along as both heads gasp and groan.

“You fucking cunt…I would have been…so good to you.” Pierce can hardly speak, he’s gasping in pain as he slides down the last of the steps, thump thump thump, and then becomes a limp thing at the foot of them. You exchange the knife for the sledgehammer because if you’re going to kill a man who wasn’t recently reanimated, then you’re going to go all the way with it.

Hill’s head has a new dent in it when the body manages to flop over onto its back. There is so much blood smeared all over the steps. It’s going to be a bitch to clean up.

There’s a gunshot sound from upstairs and that means there is going to be even more cleanup required.

You and Herbert stand over the body, weapons in hand. Less than three years ago, this would have been the most terrifying thing in the world. But right now, this two headed man seems small, pathetic. He’s nothing compared to the two of you.

Herbert remembers how all of this began with Hill and him in a basement. Hill’s face seems to be straining and he knows that Hill is trying to compel him yet again.

But no one gets the chance to find out if it would have worked or not. You bring the sledgehammer down on Hill’s skull, splattering all sorts of blood and brain all over everyone down here. And then you bring it down on Pierce, cutting him off before he can say anything else, smashing his head into a pulp with one swing.

Herbert takes the sledgehammer from you as you stare down at your work, breathing heavily. He brings it down again and again, making sure that both men are unrecognizable, pulp where features had once been. There is a bit of some sort of internal organ on your pants when Herbert finally stops and steps back.

Dan runs downstairs a few moments later and the lack of pure frantic terror on his face indicates that he’s taken care of Chapham. He just stares at the body on the floor before he breaks the silence. 

“It’s over.”

–

It’s nearly dawn when you and Herbert are finally alone again. You had gone to bed sometime past three a.m, yawning through your insistence that you can keep helping with disposal and cleanup. But eventually you had acquiesced and gone to clean the blood and gore off, collapsing on top of your sheets in your bathrobe, out cold within seconds of your head hitting the pillow.

Herbert wrapping his arms around you stirs you out of your sleep and you turn around in his arms, resting your forehead against his.

“It’s done. Everything is properly disposed of. Dan wanted to burn the remains, but that would have drawn attention and taken too long, with all the pieces. So they’re in the crypt.. We’ve gotten rid of their belongings and have cleaned up the living room.” Herbert catches you up as his hand slides through your robe, his cool skin soon heated up by the warmth of your flesh as he rests a hand on your midsection. “Is everything…”

“Yeah. Everything’s alright.” You kiss him on the forehead, on the scar that had been left the night all of this had started. And you’re saying almost the same thing you had told him that night. But that had been at the start of the night, as opposed to the end of it. And you had been trying to predict the future, as opposed to speaking about the present.

Herbert closes his eyes for a moment and lets out a breath he hadn’t even been aware he had been holding.

There is a lot looming on the horizon. Later today, the two of you are going to need to discuss the future, maybe even finally give this a label.

But right now, it’s time to rest.

It’s still going to be alright when the two of you wake up.


End file.
